


Making Twilight Gay 2018

by YouMayKnowMeAsAngel



Category: Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: Blood, Blood Drinking, Character Death, F/F, HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA, Minor Violence, also jacob is like 14, and a Boi, and has a freakout about it, and major things are fixed, antonia is very horny, any heteros that got beef with this can fight me in the pit, basically this is me trying to make twilight better by making it gay, bella realizes she's gay, by which i mean bella has depression, character has depression, charlie needs a break, cis female edward, everyone's aged up to college age, i'll bring my rainbow punching gloves and years of repressed rage, i'm naming her antonia, tbh i love my version of jacob black so fucking much
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-17
Updated: 2018-09-28
Packaged: 2019-05-08 02:48:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 25,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14684868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YouMayKnowMeAsAngel/pseuds/YouMayKnowMeAsAngel
Summary: I challenged myself to make Twilight better by making it gay. This is the lesbian result.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hi welcome to Lesbian Vampire Hell.

My mother believes there’s something deeply unsettling about having a plan for your life. I’ve never taken this philosophy seriously, because it’s standard hypocritical parental advice. Sure, my mom never meant to get pregnant with me when she was twenty-one, but it’s not like she threw caution to the wind afterwards. My parents, young as they were, decided to stay together and see if they could make things work. From an outside perspective, their status as a divorced couple makes it appear as though they failed. I heavily disagree.

Sometimes, two people try very, very hard to be together, only to split up. It doesn’t matter how much they love each other. In the end, it might not be realistic. My mom and dad always insist that they loved each other, still do, but it wasn’t meant to be. They’re happier as friends than lovers, and I think there’s something special in that.

You’d think I’d try to follow their example. 

:

:

:

 

“This is going to be good for you.”

“I know, Mom,” I say, trying to keep the panic out of my voice. It’s surprisingly difficult.

“A change of scenery. I’ve always said you’re too much like your father to flourish in a desert.”

She’s talking, of course, of Arizona State. At least, she’s trying to talk about it. She’s been waiting for me to talk about it for a month. 

Not gonna happen, Mom. “Yeah. It’ll be cool.”

“He’s still not there?”

I peek around the cement pole I’m currently hiding behind, searching for signs of a well-known police cruiser going exactly three miles above the speed limit. “Nope.”

I can feel my mom’s anxiety rocket skyward. “You’re around other people, right? There’s airline security? You’re not alone?” She asks, louder now that she’s pressing her cellphone against her face.

The concern is more welcome than usual because I’m standing in front of an airport, surrounded by strangers who all look like they know what they’re doing. My mom is worried about me. It makes me feel solid, real, like I have importance. I’ve been struggling with a lack of such feelings lately.

So, I smile to myself, and reassure her. “There’s a security guy by the door, and it looks like he’s keeping an eye on me. I’m sure Dad will be here soon.”

“Alright,” my mom says, still wary, but willing to let it go for now. “Stay on the phone with me until he gets there.”

Sounds good to me. The longer I keep talking to Mom, the more I can pretend everything’s normal, and nothing went wrong. I didn’t spend two useless years at a state college before suffering through something my doctor affectionally titled, “A severe panic attack”. I’m just visiting my Dad over the summer, being a good college kid and spending my breaks with my family members. Nothing to cry about.

I wipe at my eyes with my jacket sleeve, and try to re-focus on whatever my mom’s saying.

“…and I want a picture of you and your father, preferably standing in front of that old truck he’s going to surprise you with.”

“Oh god, he actually bought me a truck?”

If my mom notices the slight tremor in my voice, she doesn’t say anything. She usually would, but she probably suspects I need the space. “Yes, he did, so you’re gonna be grateful and not let him know we found out about the truck ages ago.”

“But I can’t drive.”

“Just don’t mention that, and act surprised!”

“You know I suck at lying.”

“Don’t think of it as lying. I’m pretty sure you’ll be surprised regardless, once you get a look at that thing.”

“Great,” I drawl. “Can’t wait to drive around Dorwall in style.”

My mom laughs. “Honey, in Dorwall, nothing is in style.”

She’s right. My dad’s home town, the little Oregon community in which my parents went to high school, is so incredibly separated from the rest of the nation that it seems to follow its own set of seasons. Winter, while merely a myth in Arizona, is a steady constant in Dorwall. It rains in the summer, snows in the winter, and rains again in the spring. The air is mercilessly chilly, offering no reprieve from the pouring onslaught from above. The people who live in Dorwall should be miserable, given their conditions, but it’s almost the exact opposite. There’s a creepy, old-timey charm in Oregon, born of old traditions and a complete lack of self awareness. The town members are odd and much too conversational, and fully believe that there’s something wrong with the rest of the country for not acting the way they do. In the end, I’ve found it’s wise to simply smile and nod your way through the day. This strategy has helped me whenever I’ve traveled to visit my dad. Of course, in the past it was only for two weeks. This time, I’ll be here for an entire year. 

An image passes through my mind, of me transforming into a Dorwall town member, Night of the Living Dead style. My black hair loses all it’s loose volume, and lies flat against my cheeks underneath an ugly woolen hat. My skin, tan and freckly from the warm Arizona sun, turns deathly pale in the foggy Oregon air. A necklace of seashells appears around my neck, and I suddenly know the names of all the native birds in the surrounding area.

It’s horrifying.

“Bella, sweetie, you know I love you, right?” My mom says, snapping me out of my nightmare.

I nod like an idiot, despite being on the phone. “Yeah. I love you too, Mom.”

“It’s going to be okay. When life throws you something like this…”

“It can only get better,” I finish. A little family philosophy..

And really, I can only go up from here. The last thing I need is to be mopey and sad throughout my year in Dorwall. I left my angst days behind me in high school. 

Something white and blue catches my eye, and I turn to see my dad pull up in his police cruiser, lights flashing and all. 

“Dad’s here,” I say, and my mom must hear the embarrassment in my voice because she huffs out a laugh.

“He’s got his lights on, hasn’t he?”

“Yup.” I smile and wave at my dad, who pulls up to the curb. Around him, cars slow down, and people remember their driving lessons from way back when. But my dad’s only got eyes for me. 

“How’s he looking?” My mom asks in my ear. By that, she means his weight. Last spring break, she started him on a diet to help with his blood pressure.

By the looks of it, Charlie’s lost the diet instructions. He’s got enough of a pot belly to make it clear he enjoys his food, but he still moves about with a spring in his step. 

“He looks fine,” I tell my mom. She hums, and I can tell she knows he’s ignored her advice.

“I want to talk to him before you leave,” she says as my dad gets out of the car. 

“Okay.” And all of a sudden, I’m getting choked up. This is stupid, I left home two years ago, there’s no reason for me to be sad about moving away from my mom. 

But I am. At least when I left home the first time, I was still within the same state. Close enough to visit, but far enough away to get some breathing room. Now, it’s like I’m entering an entirely different world. Growing up was never supposed to be like this, right?

The thing is, after what happened, Arizona changed. It became constricting, a reminder of all I failed to accomplish. I no longer had breathing room. In fact, it felt as though I lost the ability to breathe. Oregon is supposed to fix this.

“Hey Bells,” my Dad says, all smiles. He gives me a quick hug, wafting his coffee and leather scent all over me, then picks up my two suitcases and hauls them to the cruiser. 

“I can help,” I protest, but he shakes his head.

“Nonsense. You’re my guest. It’s the least I can do.”

“I’m not your guest, I’m your kid. I’m pretty much obligated to do the manual labor for you.”

He merely grunts, and tosses the cases into the trunk. They’re rather small, since they only contain the meager number of winter items I have which are suitable for Dorwall. 

“Is Charlie there?” My mom asks, her voice reaching a demanding pitch. 

“Yup.” I pause. “I’m gonna miss you.”

“No, you’re not, because I’m going to be Skyping you every night, right?”

“Right.”

“Promise.”

I smile. “Okay.” When my dad comes back over, I hand him the phone. “There’s a lady who wants to talk to you, something about ditching you with the kid and never paying alimony.”

My dad gives me a look. “That better not be a jibe at me.”

“Nah. You’re a cool dad.” I kiss him on his whiskery cheek and head for the car.

Behind me, I can hear my dad talk into the phone in a low voice. “Hey Renee…Yeah, she looks fine….A little tired, maybe, but—“

I slide into the car, shutting the door with the intentions of not listening to the conversation. My parents need the time to talk about their daughter, the sad girl who dropped out of college and is in desperate need of a mental rework. I figure they have something resembling a 5-step-plan. 

Step one: Make sure Bella is comfortable in Dorwall.

Step two: Ask Bella what’s going on.

Step three: _Really_ ask Bella what’s going on.

Step four: Somehow get Bella back into school.

Step five: Settle with whatever Bella decides is best.

A solid plan, figuratively. Realistically, it all falls apart. 

They can’t ask Bella what’s wrong with her, because Bella sure as hell doesn’t know. I could always say the pressure of school got to me, but they’d never buy that. _I_ don’t buy that. I was a perfect student in high school; mastering school work, a social life, and volunteering with my mom. College comes along and BAM! It all falls to complete shit.

After everything that happened, my mom tried to get me to go traveling with her, seeing the world like we’ve always wanted to. I would have said yes if it wasn’t for Phillip, my mom’s new husband. It’s their first year as newlyweds, I didn’t want to step all over that.

Then, Charlie called up with an entirely unexpected idea. He suggested I take a year off, come live with him in Dorwall. 

He thought I would say no. My mom thought I would say no. I thought I would say no. I surprised us all by packing my bags and buying three scarfs. In the moment, I think I was so desperate for any sort of escape that I was willing to do something surreal. Dorwall feels far enough away from reality for me to fully fight for my life back.

‘Course, life has a way of just fucking with me anyways. For funzies. 

Outside the car, the conversation topic has obviously switched from me to Charlie. He’s frowning, and appears to be trying to interrupt whatever my mom is lecturing him about. Poor Dad. Things are already awkward enough between us, without this big college issue hanging over our shoulders.

He finally says goodbye, hangs up, and walks to the car. 

“She remind you that cholesterol exists?” I ask as he opens the door.

“I can still ground you,” he grunts.

The cruiser starts up, and we’re off.

Twenty minutes later, and I’m considering opening the car door and running back to the airport, screaming. We haven’t said a word to each other. I’m sitting next to my father, the man who helped raise me, and I can’t think of one thing to say to him.

“So. Dorwall,” I try, desperate for anything. “Was Floor-Ceiling taken?”

Holy shit that’s a lame joke. That’s such a lame joke, it’s not even a joke, and everyone always says that whenever they visit Dorwall. I’ve probably said it at one point. To my dad. Because I couldn’t think of anything else to say. Like right now.

My father, who’s also desperate to stop this horrible silence, laughs weakly. “Yeah, so was Housington.” When I don’t laugh, he glances over. “Like a house? Get it?”

“Oh.” I cough. “Right.”

Silence.

I send up a silent prayer to whoever’s listening, for a bolt of lighting that will crash down upon this car, instantly killing us both. I’m pretty sure my dad is thinking the exact same thing. Somehow, it’s always like this. In the genetic split between my parents, I got my mom’s thick black hair, brown eyes, and skin that freckles in the sun. I got my dad’s personality, which consists of horrible conversation skills, the ability to completely forget sound advice, and the power of spiteful sarcasm. 

A pretty fair split.

My dad grunts, suddenly becoming Charlie the Police Officer. “Sorry I was late to pick you up. Pulled over a couple of rich punks speeding downtown.”

Oh thank god. Something to talk about. “Rich punks?” I ask. “In Dorwall?”

He shrugs one shoulder. “Well, not really punks, but they’re pretty rich. Big family that moved in three years ago, have a huge house in the woods. Sports cars and stuff. Nice folks, but…”

I’m actually interested now. My mom will want to hear about Charlie chasing down sports cars. “But what?”

My dad’s expression goes blank for a moment. “I don’t know, there’s something weird about them. It’s the way they move, like they’re all dancers or something. Smooth.”

“Smooth?” I raise my eyebrows.

My dad’s face colors a bit. “Yeah, well,” he mumbles, “they’re freaky. A perfect family, the Stepford Wives or something.”

I settle into my seat, happily mulling over the possibility of an interesting feature in my new home. “I take it they’re the talk of the town?”

“Probably, but I don’t partake in the gossip,” he gruffs out. 

That’s a lie. I know my dad loves himself a rumor, like all the good folk of Dorwall. 

“I bet you’d have something cool to contribute to the conversation.” When he gives me a confused look, I’m once again reminded that my dad and I don’t think on the same wavelength. “You know, since you pulled them over?”

He blinks. “Oh. Right. I pulled over two of them.”

“Teenagers?”

“No.” Charlie hesitates, then starts to rant in a very Charlie way. “There’s Carlisle and his wife Esme, and they have three daughters. I think. I know two are in their thirties, but I swear they barely look twenty-one. Good genes. I think the youngest is around your age. I hardly ever see her though, I mostly run into the older two and their husbands. They were speeding around in a Jaguar of all things, blasting music. Thought it was kinda strange, seeing as I’ve never pulled any of them over for anything before. Almost like they wanted a ticket.”

I tap my hand on my thigh, wishing we had some music to play instead of a police radio. “If you’re rich enough, you probably don’t care about tickets.”

My dad mutters something in approval, but suspiciously quiets down.

“You did give them a ticket, didn’t you Dad?”

He stays quiet.

I find myself smiling, and softly teasing him. “What, did they buy you off?”

_“No,”_ he says quickly. “Nothing like that. They were just really polite, I’ve never given them a ticket before, and it’s not like anyone at the precinct would have started a fuss over it…” His face is red for some reason. He’s not willing to tell me everything, but I don’t care because it’s so hilariously cute.

“Don’t worry Dad, your crooked cop side-game is safe with me.” I ignore his disgruntled protests and glance out the window. The further we drive, the greener everything seems to get. I have no idea what kind of trees these are, but they seem to be fighting a personal battle with civilization. They tower up into the sky, almost glaring down at our tiny car driving underneath their lush branches. “The air must be really sappy here,” I say.

“You get used to it.”

My dad says that so easily that it’s clear it’s a familiar phrase. I think that over while the car falls into another bout of quiet. After about twenty minutes of both of us pretending nothing is awkward and that we both love companionable silences, my dad clears his throat.

“Bells,” he says, and I can tell we’re really going to get into it now. “I just want you to know I didn’t invite you here because I pity you, or because I want to steal you away from your mom.”

Oh god.

“I want to help you. We can work this out together, away from whatever was freaking you out. College isn’t for everyone, I should know.”

Please stop.

“You can stay here with me for the whole year if you want, or if you start to figure things out, you can leave. Whatever works. I’m also….I’m here to talk about stuff. If you need that. If you want to.”

Well Dad, there’s nothing I’d rather do than talk with you about whatever the fuck’s wrong with me. We can go over so many interesting topics, like why I think I’m a failure, how I became a failure, and what it is I failed to do. Family bonding, yay!

But then I look over, and I can see how he's not looking at me, and I suddenly understand he knows what I’m thinking right now, and he doesn’t want to be saying this as much as I don’t want him to be saying this.

But he has to. Because he’s my dad. And he loves me.

I swallow past my stupid feelings and nod, hoping he can see in his peripheral. “Yeah. Alright.” I pause. “Thanks, Dad, for all this.”

“It’s nothing Bells,” he says quickly, nearly cutting me off. “What kind of parent would I be if I didn’t…” He stops talking, but I get it.

Jesus, if every conversation we have goes like this, my dad and I are never going to get anywhere. And that’s a bad thing. I’ve always been closer to my mom, because I’m more like my dad. My mom is a constant source of sunlight and energy. She talks nonstop so that I don’t have to, and she knows me. Really knows me. Probably more than I’m comfortable with. I tell her everything, regardless, and she’s the only person in my life who I trust completely with my feelings. 

Charlie, on the other hand, is something close to a blank slate. Whenever we see each other, it’s like we’re meeting for the first time again. I’m pretty sure both of us hate that. So, along with getting my shit together, I’m going to try to initiate some form of emotional contact with my dad. Considering I’m about as skilled in that particular area as he is, it’s gonna be painful.

The rev of a powerful engine catches my attention, and my eyes snap to a yellow sports care racing out of the woods in front of us. I’m shocked for a moment, until I see a barely visible dirt driveway leading off through the trees.

“Speak of the devil,” Charlie grumbles, and the siren comes on.

I feel myself sliding down my seat, silently screaming at a cruel god who refuses to end my mortification. Not only am I moving into a town wherein everybody remembers me as an obnoxious fourteen-year-old, but I’ll be meeting the newest town members while my dad gives them a speeding ticket. Awesome.

“Are these the same people you pulled over earlier?” I ask meekly.

“No, but it’s one of the sisters. And her husband.”

Cool. By the end of the day, their family is going to hate my family, and my family includes me. Welcome to Dorwall, Bella.

The sports car pulls over to the side of the road, smoothly sliding to an easy stop. The police cruiser jerks me forward a bit when my dad hits the brakes. Knowing the Dorwall police department, this car probably needs a tuneup. Not that I would know anything about that. In fact, I’m having trouble trying to recognize what kind of sports car that is, besides the fact that it’s yellow and goes fast.

“Hey, you’re coming with me,” my dad tells me as he unbuckles his seatbelt. 

The words _you’re coming with me_ bounce around my head. My brain decides they have no meaning, so I say, “What?”

He makes eye contact with me. “You’re coming with me. Out of the car.”

I immediately leap into the action I know best: Trying to desperately get out of doing something embarrassing. “Dad, no, that’s gotta be against regulation or—“

“Bella, me picking you up from the airport is against regulation.” He huffs out a small laugh. “But all the officers knew where I was going. Dorwall operates to its own tune, people are pretty understanding.” He climbs out of the car, leaving me staring after him with a sense of impending doom. “Thought you wanted to meet the rich family. You seemed interested.”

And dammit, I am. If someone in Dorwall drives a bright yellow sports car, and is willing to obviously speed that sports car in front of a police officer, I want to get a good look at their face so I can accurately describe them to my mom later. Besides, maybe being the daughter of a police officer will give me some sort of cool status with these people. It probably won’t, but I need a proper excuse to get out of the car and watch my dad give someone a ticket. 

I unbuckle my seatbelt. My dad smiles.

There’s a blonde woman in the driver’s seat of the sports car. I kinda want to call it a Lamborghini, because it’s one of the few sports car names I know. I also want to call this woman a model, because she’s gorgeous. Long blonde hair that seems to shimmer despite a cloudy sky, lips that look naturally pink and plump, and golden eyes that are focussed on me and my dad. The more I stare at her, the more I keep trying to look for a flaw in her face. There are no blemishes on her skin, no freckles or wrinkles. The glimpses of her teeth I see when she talks are pure white. She’s beautiful, yet somehow, I’m unnerved. There’s something not right about this, something putting me on edge.

It’s like seeing something merely on the surface, while knowing something else is hidden away, something you probably wouldn’t like. I realize I don’t want to stand too close to this woman, but at the same time, I’m interested enough to take a step closer. I think there might be some specks of brown in her eyes, and maybe if I moved forward I could—

“Bella?” 

I blink, and the world slams back into focus. “What?”

My dad’s staring at me. The woman’s staring at me. “I was just introducing you to Rosalie here, telling her how good of a kid you are.”

I stare at my dad. What did he tell her, about that time I made the honor’s club when I was sixteen? Probably nothing recent. I haven’t exactly been the poster-child for “daughter of the year”. I look to the woman, Rosalie, and take a step back. Somehow, I’d gotten really close to the driver’s side window.

Rosalie smiles at me, unworried by my weird actions. “Hello, Bella,” she says. Her voice is smooth, no strange cracks or pitches. “I love your name. It’s very pretty.”

I swallow. “Uh.”

Her smile widens. “Don’t worry, I won’t hold the speeding ticket against you. Your dad’s a good cop.” 

I regain control of my vocal chords. “Yeah. He is. It’s nice to meet you.” 

She laughs, and it sounds gorgeous. “Yes, if only it were under better circumstances! I’m afraid my husband, Emmet, is to blame for this.” She turns towards the guy in the passenger’s seat, whom I’ve failed to notice. Like Rosalie, he’s beautiful, with flawless dark skin and sparkling teeth. 

He smiles wide at me, leaning forward. “I can’t help it if I’m so distracting. Gotta keep up appearances.”

I smile back. He has the same eyes as his wife. I’m guessing they’re wearing contacts or something, because there’s no way that color of gold exists naturally in the real world.

Rosalie leans out of the window to look at my dad. “He’s only teasing, officer. I wasn’t distracted, merely not paying attention to the speed limit.”

Part of me knows that statement is dumb, because it contradicts itself, but the rest of me is smiling and nodding, completely willing to accept whatever this goddess suggests.

I see my dad is doing the same. His cheeks and nose are red, and he’s almost giggling as he writes up a ticket. “No worries, Mrs. Hale. If I owned a car like this, I’d be racking up the speeding tickets.”

Rosalie sighs, and she looks apologetic as she says, “I know, this thing is ridiculous, and it draws too much attention whenever we drive. But, Emmet loves it when I fix up his cars.”

“Well, you’re an excellent mechanic, and your husband has good taste,” my dad says, like he’s joking around with an old buddy. Emmet laughs along with him.

What a happy bunch of people we are, giving out speeding tickets. Oh the fun we have.

I think this, but I’m laughing too. I’m enjoying the company of these beautiful strangers, the Hales in their sports car. And yet, I know something’s wrong. This whole situation is off, not because it’s surreal, but because I really don’t want to be anywhere near this couple.

And yet I’m standing a foot away from them.

I want to tell my dad to get us both back in the car, and as far away from this spot as possible. We need to go, _now_. At the same time, I love looking at these two gorgeous people, and the woman smells nice, and they’re being so friendly, and I really just want them to be happy with me and smile more and maybe give me a hug.

Woah. Okay. That’s weird.

I stop smiling and laughing. Next to me, my dad writes up the ticket, but now I’m staring at the couple in the car with new eyes. Those thoughts I just had were not my own. My real thoughts were of escape, of getting the hell away from these two.

When my dad hands Rosalie a ticket, there’s a moment where she turns her head and locks eyes with me. It only lasts about a second, but within that time her expression changes. Her face becomes a blank slate, her eyes boring into mine. I stare back, terrified.

Then she’s smiling again and thanking my dad and all is well. The sports car starts up with a roar, and they pull away, driving off at a respectful speed.

“Bella?”

I turn around. My dad is walking towards the cruiser, waving at me to follow him.

I don’t want to turn my back to the car driving away, like some sort of instinct embedded in humans who don’t want to be eaten. Still, I brush away my fear and hurry back to the car. 

Once we’re both buckled in, I ask my dad something that just occurred to me. “Hey, how far away are we from Dorwall?”

“Shouldn’t be too far. About a half hour.”

I look back to the yellow sports car, driving off into the slight fog of the morning. “I guess they’re a bit far from home, huh?”

My dad considers it. “Yeah. Guess so.” Then he starts up the car, and we’re off. 

Pretty soon, any worries I have about supermodels and sports cars are pushed to the back of my mind. We’re driving through downtown, and I’m getting my first view of Dorwall in three and a half years. I’d stopped visiting after sophomore year of high school, because by that point my mom and I decided it was time for Charlie to pay for a plane ticket. 

Nothing seems to have changed too much, which is somehow comforting. At least something is remaining stagnant these days, even when it’s just a few knick-knack stores and a knockoff Italian restaurant. We pass the two bars in Dorwall; the Old Joint, which my dad and the other officers visit, and Orange Zest, the bar for the younger college kids and high schoolers with fake ID’s. My dad sees me looking, and tries for another bout of awkward conversation.

“Did you have fun with your friends often? In college?”

I nod, but don’t elaborate. I had friends in college, people I hung out with. My roommate and her buddies. But it was more than a little obvious I was often only invited along because I was there. I wasn’t friendless, per say, but I never really had a close social circle. When I dropped out, I got a few heartfelt text messages, but no contact otherwise. I’m sure if I told my dad this, he would see it as a reason for my breakdown.

He’s quiet for a moment, then says something so quickly I almost miss it. “Any boys catch your eye?”

I look over. My dad’s eyes are on the road, and he’s clearly trying to look as disinterested as possible. I don’t know why, it’s not an emotionally loaded question. But, I suppose for a man who only gets to see his daughter a couple times a year, this is probably a conversation he doesn’t know how to handle, but feels like he should.

Meanwhile, I just say, “No,” and look away. I’m telling the truth, I didn’t date through college. It never seemed like a priority, and despite a few options for hookups here and there, I wasn’t interested. Nothing for my dad to worry about, and probably yet another example of something not right with my life. 

It’s ten more minutes before we arrive home. Four blocks away, I can see the rusty red bumper of a beat-up truck in Charlie’s driveway, which has the aesthetic of a man-made object meant to outlive man. My dad must see the look on my face, because he lets out a small sigh and says, “You can at least try to look surprised.”

“I am!” I protest, because it’s true. I knew he was getting me an old truck that had previously belonged to his friend, Billy, but I didn’t know it would resemble a bulldozer.

We park next to the rusty red monster, and I remember how my mom wanted me to get a picture of the two of us standing in front of the truck. I hold my phone up, we smile, and I nearly blind us both with an accidental flash picture. 

“You hungry?” My dad asks.

I shrug. “I can eat.”

“Great. Went shopping the other day, picked up a few things.” He turns and starts walking up the cheap gravel walk that replaces a front lawn. He pauses once he gets to the front door. “You’re not, uh, allergic to anything new, right?”

“Nope.”

“Good.”

We stare at each other. Then he opens the door, and holds it out for me.

Charlie’s house is a small two story that used to belong to his parents. When my mom got pregnant with me, they lived together for two years. For a small family, the house is the perfect size. For one person, it must be kinda lonely. It doesn’t look too welcoming, with cheap eggshell painted walls and a mix-match collection of old furniture. The couch is the most welcoming part of the ground floor, well worn and grooved where my dad probably falls asleep in front of the television. The kitchen is tiny, though the counters look freshly cleaned.

“Well, what do you think?” my dad asks.

He’s looking at me out of the corner of his eye, his chest puffed out a bit. Realizing he must have spent a while cleaning up before I came over, I smile wide. “Yeah, looks great.”

Pleased, he nods towards the stairs. “Wait until you see your room. I tried to make it look nicer than the rest of this dump, to make you feel more welcome.” He heads back for the front door. “I’ll grab your things, you go on up.”

Upstairs, there’s a bathroom, a master bedroom, and a guest room at the end of the hall. I’ve slept in the guest room before, and I like it. It’s got a huge window, and if you’re seven-years-old and stand on your tip-toes, you can just see the tips of the mountains that stand behind the forest surrounding Dorwall. 

When I open the door, I almost don’t recognize the room. Charlie must have stopped by Bed Bath and Beyond. There’s a floral print bedspread, a desk with new office supplies, a little book shelve that hangs on a freshly painted lilac wall, and a lamp with miniature owls on the lampshade. There’s a little bench by the window, and a hand-made reading nook with pillows and pink curtains. My dad even bought me a little cork board to hang over my bed, where I can stick photographs. 

It’s nice. Really nice. So nice that I feel myself let out a deep breath, and some tension leaves my shoulders. My dad, gruff as he may be, cares. This is his silent little way of showing he knows I’m going through shit, and wants to help. Maybe he can’t fix everything, but he wants to make me feel at home.

Suddenly very tired, I sit down on the end of the bed and take out my phone. Two texts from my mom show up on my screen, one making sure I packed enough warm clothes, and another reiterating that she loves me.

I turn off my phone and fall back on the bed. The sheets smell unfamiliar, but they’re soft, and it’s not long before I fall into a dreamless sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

“Bella. Hey, come on, wake up.”

Someone’s gently shaking me awake. I struggle to open my eyes, my scratchy throat and sore head reminding me why I don’t like naps. “What,” I mumble, sitting up a bit.

My dad’s standing at my bedside. On the floor next to him are my two suitcases. 

“Sorry,” I say, remembering the events of this afternoon. “I must have fallen asleep.”

The lines around my dad’s eyes crinkle a bit. “Yup. Took a four hour nap. You seemed tired from the flight, so I let you sleep.”

Four hours? “What?”

“I wouldn’t have woken you, if there wasn’t something important going on tonight. ‘Fraid I have to be there, and I don’t want to leave you alone on your first night here.”

I consider those words, then take good look at my dad’s attire. He’s changed out of his police uniform into a denim shirt and wool jacket. He has on gloves and hiking boots, which don’t give me much hope regarding tonight’s activities.

“What’s going on?” I ask, trying my best to sound interested and not dreadful.

I fail, and my dad frowns. “Oh, just a town event. A big campfire to celebrate summer. Families come, there’s music, food. If you really don’t want to go, we can stay here.”

My stomach growls at the mention of food, giving me no feasible excuse for turning down an easy meal. “No, no, it sounds cool.” I get to my feet, pushing myself off the bed. “I’ve never been to a campfire before. Guess it’s a good chance to meet everyone.” 

My dad coughs. “Well, not everyone.”

“What?” 

He looks sheepish.

I narrow my eyes. “Dad, what did you do?”

“Nothing,” he says, as someone from downstairs shouts, _“Is she up yet?!”_

Charlie and I freeze. Neither of us answer the voice, which the person takes as a sign to come upstairs. As they approach, I try to communicate with my dad through eye-contact that I am not pleased. He looks away, so I guess he gets the message.

“HEY!” 

We both jump. Someone peeks their head around the doorway, and I find myself staring into the freckle covered face of Jessica Stanley. She grins at me. “Bet you’re surprised to see me, huh?”

I blink. “Jessica?”

Her grin widens. As she steps into full view, I try to connect this twenty-something woman with the ten-year-old I knew as a girl.

Jessica Stanley was a friend of mine when I used to visit Dorwall for a few weeks in the summer. Her family lived close to Dad’s house, just four houses down the block. She was a skinny little asian girl with a freckled face and stringy brown hair, whose clothes were always covered in some sort of mud or muck. For reasons I could never comprehend, she would ride her bike to my Dad’s house in the afternoon, drag me outside, and take me on “adventures”. These adventures usually consisted of us searching for fairies in the creek behind her grandmother’s house, or catching lizards in her family’s garden. 

Besides from the lack of mud and Hello Kitty bandaids, Jessica looks about the same. Her hair’s pulled up in a messy bun, and her flushed face makes her freckles stand out. There’s a certain gleam in her eyes that only promises trouble. 

“Mr. Swan called me up, said you were back home for the summer!” She says.

I fight the urge to glance at my dad. I’ll probably be here a little longer than just a summer, but I smile back. “Yeah, I’m glad I’m here!”

Then the dam breaks, and Jessica attacks me with a hug. She’s smaller than me by about a foot, but she still manages to wrap her arms around my shoulders and _squeeze._ Just when I’m afraid I’ll never breathe right again, she lets go and grabs my hand.

“Come on! I can’t wait for you to see everybody!”

And then she’s dragging me out of the room. I throw a panicked look back at my dad, who only shrugs after me. 

“Wait, uh, shouldn’t I change?” I cry.

She stops in her tracks, nearly sending me crashing into her. “Hmm. Maybe. Yes.” She looks me over, and I become painfully aware I’m still wearing my airplane sweatpants and t-shirt. “I would dress warm. The temperature drops when it gets dark.”

I nod. “Warm. Right.” I hurry back upstairs, kick my dad out of my room, and change into the warmest clothes I brought from Arizona. A gray hoodie, one of the scarves I bought on a whim, jeans, and fake leather boots. I glance at my reflection in the closet mirror, and panic for a few seconds at the state of my hair and face. My sloppy ponytail had worked for the plane flight, but goddammit, I can do better.

A minute and a broken scrunchy later, I resign myself to the fact that I can’t do better. My face is as good as it’s gonna get, and I can’t really do anything about the circles under my eyes, so I rush for the door and jog down the stairs.

Jessica’s on her phone, texting madly away. She looks up when I approach, but her fingers don’t stop moving. She glances over my outfit, “Nice,” then turns back to her phone. “Just telling Angie that we’re heading over. You remember Angie?”

“Uh, Angela Webber?” 

“Yeah. Apparently she’s bringing her new boyfriend. Should be fun.” She gives me a wicked grin. “We get to pick him apart.”

Despite myself, I grin back. In the span of five minutes, Jessica has made me feel like we’re close, despite not having spoken to each other since we started high school. 

Outside, someone honks. Jessica sighs. “Speaking of boyfriends, mine’s getting impatient. Come on, we’re giving you a ride.” She grabs my hand again, and I feel myself grow a bit warm.

“Oh! Okay! Does my dad—“

“Yeah, I told him we’re kidnapping you. It’s all good.”

And with that, we’re out the door. I’m fully prepared to keep moving, but Jessica stops, and this time I do crash into her. She whirls around, and fixes me with a look that says a lot of things. 

After a moment, I let out a long sigh. “He told you, didn’t he?” I say, my voice dropping any emotion.

She winces a bit. “Not everything, just that you’re going through a bit of a rough patch.”

I look away, considering whether or not I can run back into the house before she can grab me. “Guess that’s why you’re here, huh?”

Jessica frowns. “What? No! I mean, I want to be nice to you, but…” She pauses. “Look. This year’s been tough for me too. Not that I want to compare stuff or anything, but I might know a little about whatever you’re feeling. So when your dad told me you would be in town, and what was happening….I know you probably don’t want to talk about it, and I know we haven’t really seen each other since middle school, but I want to help. If I can. Get it?” 

I stare at her. Her eyes are wide, and she’s blinking up at me in earnest. “I appreciate it.” I hesitate before admitting shyly, “I’d like to start hanging out again. If that’s cool.”

There’s that grin again. “Yeah! More than cool! That’s awesome! Let’s do it! Bella and Jessica, at it again!”

I laugh alongside her, though we’re both cut off by another honk of a car horn.

“JESS! GRAB HER AND GO, COME ON!”

Jessica whirls around so fast her hair bun swipes over my face. “WE’RE COMING!” She screeches at a bright red jeep parked in front of my house.

There’s an annoyed looking guy with jet black hair, leaning over the passenger seat. He makes a big show of waving us over.

“Your boyfriend?” I guess as we walk down the gravel lawn.

Jessica sighs happily. “Yeah, Mike. I love him.” Then she cups her hands around her mouth and shouts, “DID YOU GRAB THE HOT DOGS?!”

There’s a loud, _“Shit,”_ from the jeep.

Mike, despite being annoyed at us for taking so long, is a nice guy. He’s easy to talk to as we make our way to the only supermarket in Dorwall, as he seamlessly juggles getting to know me and bickering with Jessica about the fastest route.

“So, Pheonix, huh? Heard crazy stuff happens there— _Dammit Jess I’m not driving through a parking lot—_ like concrete melting and stuff.”

I shift in my seat, feeling a bit weird in an open jeep when it’s under 60 degrees out. “Yeah. My high school used to have a fried egg competition, to see which class could fry an egg on the sidewalk the fastest.”

He twists in his seat to throw me an excited grin. “Seriously? That actually happens?”

Jessica smacks his shoulder. “Eyes on the road!”

“I’m watching the road!”

“No, you’re watching me telling you to watch the road.”

“Well, you’re prettier than the road anyway.”

Jessica quiets down, blushing a bit. “Dork,” she mutters.

Mike winks at me in the rearview mirror. I decide to like him.

By the time we’re making our way to the campfire, we’re all chatting like old friends. I’m in the middle of a debate with Mike about the best ways to make Cup of Noodles not taste like shit. I’m supporting my argument with the merits of adding leftover Chinese food, while Mike makes a fool of himself by trying to prove that adding vegetables is the better option. 

“Vegetables never did anyone any good!” I cry.

“There is literally no evidence to support that claim!”

“Me! I’m the evidence!”

“Have you ever eaten a vegetable?”

“Never. In my _life.”_

“You know what I think?” Jessica says, interrupting us both. She finishes rolling on some chapstick, and caps it with a little click. “I think you’re both idiots.” She opens the car door. “And we’re here.”

We watch her climb out. The jeep’s parked in a little dirt area off the side of the road, near about thirty other vehicles. Looks like most of the town is already here. I watch a family leave their minivan, and start walking towards a hiking trail which probably leads towards the campground. It looks like a lot of uphill. Hope my $15 department store boots can handle this.

Mike turns in his seat to point a finger at me. “This isn’t over, you veggie heathen.”

“That’s my line.”

He jumps out of the jeep, and I follow suit with less energy. In the ten seconds it takes for the three of us to reach the hiking trail, I become the third wheel. Jessica and Mike have joined hands and are being cute together, while I follow them and try not to look like I just got off a plane five hours ago. 

I was right about the air being sappy, but it’s easy to get used to. There’s a strange combination of warm-and-cold going on, which is pretty much Oregon’s summer climate. I send up a silent prayer that my hair stays pulled back, because the humidity within this forest would probably cause mass amounts of frizz.

It starts to get darker the closer we get to the camp site, and I slowly shift forward towards Mike and Jessica. Back home, I had the luxury of separation from too much major wildlife, and I’m really not looking forward to being eaten by a wolf or something. Wait, are wolves native in Oregon? Probably not, but I once heard that there were a few making a comeback in California, maybe…

“Are there wolves in Oregon?” I blurt.

Jessica looks over her shoulder. “Wolves?”

“Yeah.” I nearly trip on a weird patch of forest floor. “Are there—are there wolves? Here?”

“Somebody’s scaaaared,” Mike taunts.

Jessica bumps him with her hip, then turns back to me. “Only a few.”

“Ok good—wait, what?”

She shrugs, and looks off through the trees to our right. I quickly follow her gaze, but I see nothing but a bunch of redwoods. “Yeah. I had to do a wildlife study back in high school, apparently researchers keep track of the exact number of wolves in the state. As of like, last year? There’s about a hundred wolves in Oregon. Which is good.”

I let out a sharp laugh. “Yes! A hundred wolves! Excellent!”

She gives me a look. “Relax Bella, all of them are in restricted zones. They’re managed by the government or something. None of them are near here.”

“Besides,” Mike chimes in. “Aren’t there mountain lions and stuff in Arizona?”

I throw him a glare. “Yeah, but I didn’t make a habit of walking through the wild with a package of freshly bought sausages.”

Jessica laughs, and tosses me the bag. “Those things hardly contain any meat. We’re fine.”

Then Mike scares us both by throwing his arms in the air and letting out a howl. When Jessica pushes him, he pushes her back and takes off running down the trail. Jessica chases him, laughing.

I watch them leave, already tired from the mini hike, and really not wanting to run. Then I remember I’m alone in a strange forest literally holding a pack of sausages. Something moves in the bushes to my left, and I take off so fast my middle school gym teacher would be proud.

Light up ahead tells me I’m near the campsite, and I slow to a jerky jog as I catch up to the others. Jessica’s waiting for me in front of some wooden stairs, which lead down into a sort of dirt amphitheater, probably made to protect the surrounding area from fire. She smiles at me, and offers her arm. I slink mine with hers, feeling a bit warm. Probably due to the fact that I haven’t exercised in around eight years. 

“You look nice and flushed,” she teases as we make our way down the steps.

“Yeah, thanks for that,” I reply easily. She laughs, and it’s like we’re kids again.

“Want me to introduce you to everyone?”

I take a peek down below. To my surprise, there’s no fire, just a large stage area with lanterns hanging on strings from the surrounding banisters. On the stage, families mingle and sit in fold-out lawn chairs, eating food and enjoying each other’s company. It’s less strange than I thought it would be, and I can see why it’s a popular event. There’s music playing from a live band that actually sounds pretty good, though they’re doing covers of random country songs. It’s charming, and I’m suddenly sort of disappointed I’ve missed this every year I come to visit my dad. 

There’s a lot of people though, and I’m not exactly looking forward to dodging everyone’s questions about college. Jessica must see the look on my face, because she pats my arm and says, “How about I just point people out and talk shit about them, huh?”

I grin. “Sounds good.”

“Awesome.” She leads me down the rest of the stairs and onto the stage. We grab a couple of office-looking foldout chairs and sit off to one side, far enough away from people to not invite conversation, but close enough to get a good view of everything that’s going on. Jessica rubs her hands together and scans the crowd. “Let’s see, hmm, well there’s Mike over there with the other young ’uns.”

I look over, spotting Mike with a group of college-aged kids. “Are they friends from his school?”

“Nah, Mike and I go to Reed. Those guys are probably from the local community college.” She shrugs. “I don’t really know them, so moving on! Let’s see, whose worth telling you about, probably no one but I like to stay positive—“

“What about the rich family?” I interrupt.

She looks over. “Who?”

I tell her what my dad told me, about the weird family with the huge house in the woods. 

Jessica’s eyes widen, and I can tell she knows what I’m talking about. What’s more, she looks like she’s eager to talk about what I’m talking about. She shifts in her seat so that we’re closer together. When she leans in, I can smell her strawberry lip balm. “The Cullens, right? They’ve literally only lived here for three years, but I feel like they’ve been around since I was a kid.”

“Are they here tonight?” I ask.

When she points them out, it’s amazing that I haven’t noticed them before.

Roaslie and Emmet are together, cuddling under a quilted blanket near the opposite end of the stage. I find myself trying to figure out the color of their eyes, to see if they’re both still wearing those gold contacts. 

“We pulled them over, on our way to my dad’s house,” I say.

Jessica’s eyebrows go up, and it looks comical. Really, everything about this girl is expressive to the max. “Seriously? Wow, I don’t know what I’d do in that situation. Probably shit myself.”

Oh, that’s interesting. “Why?”

She rolls her eyes. “Just look at them. The Hales. Supermodel couple of the century, driving around in a yellow Porsche.”

So that’s what that car was. Huh.

“Actually, all the people in that house are crazy beautiful.”

“Really? And that’s what makes them scary?”

“Duh. Pretty people are intimidating. It’s like a law.”

I consider her words. Maybe that’s what put me off earlier, when I wanted to run away from the happy couple. They don’t look very intimidating right now, curled up with each other and giggling under a blanket. Still, some part of me is glad they’re a good fifty feet away. 

“So, Rosalie is the oldest sister, I think. It’s hard to tell with all of them. Alice is the middle one, she’s that small girl over there.” Jessica points at a woman who’s talking to one of the band members at the far right of the stage. She’s closer to where we’re sitting than Rosalie and Emmet, so I can make out few more details.

Like her sister, Alice is gorgeous, though it’s hard to see any familial resemblance. While Rosalie’s features seem strong and stunning, like a fashion model, Alice has the slight features of the pretty girl-next-door. A wide smile, peachy skin, and a cute button nose that flicks upwards at its tip. She’s also tinier than Rosalie, around five feet exactly. What she lacks in height she makes up for in movement, because she’s constantly bouncing on her toes or swaying from side to side as she talks to the very flustered band member. And of course, she’s one of those girls who can rock a disheveled, short hair cut. Her black hair is tousled in a completely natural way.

“I bet she doesn’t use hair gel,” I mutter somewhat enviously, since my own thick hair is notorious for never doing what I want it to do. Ever.

Jessica laughs. “Yeah. Total rocker chick, huh?”

“I can see that.”

“Her shadow is her husband, Jasper.”

I stare at the tall guy with an excellent jawline, who’s standing just a few feet behind Alice, and watching her intently. “Wait, husband? She doesn’t look much older than us.”

“I know right?” Jessica exclaims, as though someone has _finally_ brought this up. “I mean, true love is true love and all, but I can’t even imagine tying a knot before I’m like, twenty-seven. Or thirty. Wait, no, forty.”

I nod in agreement. ”Yeah. What’s the rush? Why not wait until I’m old and have literally no other options?”

She nods sagely, and we sit for a moment in considerate silence. 

“So, is that all of them who are here tonight?” I ask. 

Jessica’s eyes go back to the crowd. “Um, no, I think the other one is…oh, wait, there she is.” She nods her head to the left. “Sitting alone, the one with the eyebrows.”

“Eyebrows?” I say, confused, until my eyes land on a girl sitting near the food table. She’s sort of hunched over herself, her arms resting loosely on her knees. Her eyebrows really are something, big and almost perfectly sculpted over her eyes, giving her a brooding look. This girl, the youngest of the sisters, doesn’t look like anyone I’ve ever seen before.

I took a photography class my first semester in college, and the professor had mentioned something about seeing certain faces that didn’t belong in the twenty-first century. The Cullen girl is the perfect example of that. Her skin, a warm brown color, turns to bronze under the glow of the lanterns. Her lips are full, and her eyes are slanted downwards, so along with the eyebrows she’s looks like a sorrowful, beautiful girl from the past. She has a strong nose and chin, and the low lighting casts deep shadows over the contours of her face. Her hair, dark brown and curly at the ends, is braided over one shoulder and falls down to her waist. As I stare at her, she tucks a loose strand behind one ear, and continues to glare at the same random spot in space.

“Wow,” I whisper without really thinking.

Next to me, Jessica nods. “Yeah. Her name’s Antonia. ’Bout as different as you can get. I swear though, when they all stand side-by-side, they stare at you in the exact same way.” She pauses for affect. “Like they’re looking for a place to stick a knife.”

That coaxes a smile out of me, and I’m happy for an excuse to look away from Antonia. “Really? I was thinking more Stepford Wives. Like, robots.”

Jessica’s eye widen, and the little girl who believed in fairies appears. “Ooh, I like that theory! Especially with Rosalie. She’s perfect, but I bet she knows how to kill a man in eight different ways.”

My gaze, which has somehow shifted a bit to the left, catches Antonia smirking at something. Embarrassed for some stupid reason, I quickly look away.

“So, when are you going to point out the parents?” I ask. “Are they just as perfect?”

Jessica nods eagerly, her loose bun bouncing on the top of her head. “Yeah. They’re over there, mingling with the other parents. The Indian guy with the glasses and the woman standing next to him.”

Really, she doesn’t need to point them out. I just have to look for the prettiest people in the crowd. Mr. Cullen stands tall next to his wife, in a long brown coat and a large pair of glasses. His hair is perfectly parted down his scalp, and he has an almost gentle look about him. Mrs. Cullen looks much the same, with her soft brown hair and warm smile. They look happy to be here, and are having a good time.

“They’re the most approachable. Apparently, Dr. Cullen is some sort of genius. The nurses and moms around here are always talking about him.” Jessica winks, giving me the impression his massive intellect probably isn’t what they like to talk about. “Mrs. Cullen’s nice. She bakes a lot, and volunteers at everything. I like her though, so I’m not going to talk shit.”

I raise a mocking eyebrow. “Oh? You going soft?”

“Yeah, because she gives me freshly baked cookies, lay off.”

I snort. 

Jessica leans back in her seat, stretching her arms behind her neck. “Well, that’s all you need to know about the Cullens.”

“What? You just pointed at a few of them, and said Mrs. Cullen bakes cookies!”

“They’re an ethnically diverse, beautiful family that lives in a big house in the middle of a forest in Dorwall Oregon. What’s there to tell?” 

I elbow Jessica in the side, and she bursts out laughing.

After a moment, she manages to give me a bit more info about the family. Three years ago, when Jessica was a high school junior, they all moved in. The large house in the woods had been in Dorwall for decades, but it was old and decrepit, and no one could really remember who originally owned it. Apparently, Carisle Cullen received the deed through inheritance or something, and moved his family in. He has a job at the local hospital, where he spends his time dazzling everyone with his charming good looks and eleven Ph.D.’s. His wife, Emily, is beloved by all. She does tons of volunteer work for the community.

Rosalie and Emmet are married, with the surname Hale. Emmet works as a P.E. teacher at Dorwall Elementary School. Rosalie is a seamstress who sells vintage 50’s dresses online. That’s pretty much the most predictable thing about her. 

Alice and Jasper are married, with the surname Cullen. They travel a lot, and Jessica suspects they’re international bloggers or something. They’re only home during the summer and holidays.

Antonia is a college student. Maybe. Like Alice, she disappears during the school year, though it’s rare that she stays in Dorwall for more than a month in the summer. She doesn’t talk much, though she’s always been nice to everyone.

“My goal in life is to get her drunk,” Jessica states.

I sneak another peak at Antonia, who’s leaning back in her chair with her eyes closed. “Why?”

“‘Dunno. She’s pretty interesting, probably knows a lot about something. A bit of inebriation might loosen her up a bit.”

Antonia suddenly opens her eyes, and stares back at me over the length of the stage. I panic for a second, embarrassed at being caught. We hold eye-contact for a few seconds, though I can’t stop my gaze from trailing over her face and jawline, taking it all in. She truly is stunning.

“Angie! Where the hell have you been?!”

I blink, and Antonia has turned away. To my right, Jessica stands and jumps to wrap her arms around the neck of a tall girl who looks vaguely familiar.

I stand too, though all I do is watch Jessica nearly strangle the poor girl she’s hugging. The girl seems used to it though, and she bends over to pry herself away from Jessica’s clutches.

I hold out my hand when she looks at me, and we share the most awful handshake I’ve ever experienced. “Hey, I’m Bella.”

“I know,” she says, and blushes. “I mean, I know your dad. Officer Swan. I know him.And I used to see you around when you were younger, so yes, I know you…” She trails off, falling silent. 

“She’s great, isn’t she?” Jessica stage whispers, giving me a wink.

I smile, and try to look cheerful and unthreatening. This girl has the look of a person who’s three seconds away from fleeing. 

“I’m Angela, but most people call me Angie,” she says. She even pushes her glasses up her nose, therefore earning herself a permanent place in my heart. 

Jessica grabs another chair, and Angie joins our little group. She was friends with Jessica in high school, and goes to college in California. San Francisco State, a weird choice for out of state, but she seems happy. 

I’m beginning to learn more about how the young, joyful youth, survive the senior center that is Dorwall Oregon. Before now, I’d mostly pegged them all as avid pot heads, but I’m pleasantly surprised to learn that Jessica and Angie aren’t strange. They might be a bit quirky, with Jessica’s nonstop chatter, and Angie’s general shy demeanor, but they’re good people. I can tell they’re both making an effort to include me. 

It’s almost enough make me relax, if it wasn’t for the pair of eyes boring into the back of my head.

Without looking, I know Antonia is staring at me. Probably glaring, because I’m paranoid, and she doesn’t exactly look like the most joyful person around. I’m nervous, but I don’t do anything until Angie points it out.

“Did you do something to upset Antonia?” She asks in a low voice.

I finally give into the impulse and turn my head. Sure enough, Antonia is leaning forward, fixing me with such an angry look that I almost want to apologize. For nothing.

That’s what makes me snap. “No,” I say, standing up. “But I’m going to talk to her about it.”

Angie looks startled. She tries to stop me. “No! Bella, wait, I don’t think you should—“

Jessica cuts in, grasping Angie’s shoulder to shut her up. “Don’t listen to her, Bella. Fucking do it. Yes.” She’s the most excited she’s been all evening.

Meanwhile, I’m too pissed to care much about what others want me to do. I make my way over to Antonia, who hasn’t looked away, but her eyebrows have stopped inching together. While in a good mood, I don’t consider myself to be a very confrontational person. It takes people like Jessica to make me do anything exciting. However, there are moments when my mother’s personality shines through my pacifism, and I charge into stupid situations headfirst without really thinking about it.

As I walk over, I’m thinking about what I’m going to say. Maybe demand why she feels the need to glare at me when I haven’t said a word to her. I’ll probably have to explain how it wasn’t my fault that her older sister got a speeding ticket. Really, it’s her family’s fault for having a Porsche anyways, in goddam Oregon. You know what, who does she think she is, glaring at me when really I should be the one glaring at her, given that her family feels the need to flaunt their wealth and whatever all over the place—

“Can I help you?”

I startle. Antonia stares up at me from her seat. I hadn’t realized I was standing in front of her, apparently not saying anything.

And just like that, all my righteous justification for walking over here is gone. I’m just staring wide-eyed at a girl who, with each passing second, is scaring the shit out of me.

She’s able to do that thing where you cock a single eyebrow, which usually makes me want to punch something, but now I kinda want to apologize. Why did I come over here again? 

Wait, oh yeah.

“You’ve been glaring at me all night,” I say, though with less conviction than I had originally planned. I sound like I’m stating a fact.

She doesn’t answer.

I start to doubt myself. “I mean, um, I was sitting over there and—is this about the speeding ticket? Because your sister seemed fine with it and they were speeding so I don’t know—“

“Speeding ticket?”

Again, her voice gives me pause. It’s deep, low in her chest and tinged with a bit of an accent I can’t place. It’s the voice of a starlet from the golden age of Hollywood, from one of the movies my mom loves to watch. It belongs on a silver screen, not coming from a college kid in the middle of Oregon.

“Yeah,” I say when I have hold of my mental faculties again. “My dad gave your sister a speeding ticket. Rosalie. She’s your sister, right?”

Her lips quirk upwards for a second. “Yes. I suppose so.”

Dear god I sound like an idiot and she’s laughing at me. She has to be. I let out a defeated breath, and look away. “I’m sorry, I just…I just got into town about six hours ago and I guess I was a bit paranoid, and I thought you were glaring at me, but you probably weren’t, and I’m sorry I came over here to yell at you. That wasn’t cool.”

_Stop talking stop talking why are you still TALKING._

“I’m really sorry for bugging you, I’m just gonna go back over there, and if we could pretend as though this never happened that would be _amazing._ Okay? Great. Sounds good.” 

No Bella, that doesn’t sound good, that sounds awful. You walked over here to yell at a girl because you thought she was glaring at you. It’s hardly been six hours since I arrived in Dorwall, and I’ve already managed to embarrass myself in front of the richest person here. 

I refuse to look at Antonia, because I really don't want to see whatever weird things she’s thinking of me right now. Also, the “fight or flight” feeling is back, like with Rosalie. My current plan is to get away from this girl as fast as possible without drawing anymore attention to myself.

“You’re leaving?” Antonia asks. She sounds incredulous. 

I nod, looking everywhere except back at her. “Yeah. My friends are over there.”

Across the stage, Angie looks about as terrified as I feel, and Jessica’s texting furiously on her phone. They can’t hear what’s going on, so they don’t know it’s time to rescue me.

“Why?”

That makes me turn my head. Antonia’s expression is blank, though her eyes flicker across my face like they’re searching for something. She doesn’t look upset.

She speaks again before I can say anything, which is just as well, because my brain and my mouth are currently succeeding in killing my reputation. Those bastards.

“Your name is Bella, right?”

I shake my head. Because I’m an idiot.

Antonia frowns. The expression is barely perceptible, just a small twinge of her mouth like when she smirked. Still, I focus on it, and start blurting out horrible things.

“My full name is Isabella, but my mom calls me Bella because she ate a lot of Italian food when she was pregnant with me. And it sort of caught on. My name, not the Italian food, though it’s good.”

There’s a pause, wherein Antonia holds my gaze, and I contemplate the benefits of death.

“You’re holding a package of sausages. Did you know that?” She says.

I hold up the package of sausages. “Um, no. I did not.” I swallow. “We brought them for the campfire.” There is going to be a campfire, right?

“We?”

“Jessica and Mike.”

Antonia finally looks away from me to study Jessica, who’s now holding up her phone, apparently filming the two of us. When Angie sees Antonia looking, she grabs Jessica’s phone away. They begin to fight over it.

“Jessica,” Antonia says quietly. “Her family lives around here.”

“Yup. She’s back home for the summer. Like me.”

“Really?” 

“Yeah.” I study Antonia for a moment, confused. If she knows my name, she must know who I am, and at least have some idea of why I’m here. “I’m living with my dad for the year.”

“The police officer.”

“Yes,” I say slowly, because something isn’t adding up here. How come she only knows a select few things about me?

Then Antonia smiles at me, and I forget about all my worries. Her teeth are straight and perfect, though I get the feeling she’s never worn braces in her life. 

(I did. Throughout middle school. I was the very image of a frizzy haired geek.)

“How about you take a seat next to me? Maybe give us another chance at introducing ourselves,” she says, her voice taking on a warmer quality than before.

Despite the fact that I still very much want to get away from this girl, I nod and meekly say, “Okay.”

Antonia’s smile widens, and all my muscles clench as though they’re in preparation for a fight. “Great. I’ll get you a chair.” She stands, and I take a small step back. On her feet, Antonia is a good foot taller than me, probably taller than Angie. 

As she walks to the nearest chair, I start to understand what my dad had said about the Cullen’s being “smooth”. Antonia walks like she’s skating, easily gliding over a stage I know to be rough and creaky to walk on. She’s dressed in a simple turtleneck and coat, though by the way she moves I’m willing to believe all of her clothing is designer. I’m entranced until she’s walking back towards me with the chair.

I’m hit with the strangest urge to _run the fuck away from her._ Run as fast as I can and never look back, because she’s coming after me and if I don’t start moving now I’m going to die.

Antonia stops in her tracks. She frowns at me, and the chair she’s holding lowers a bit.

I become aware of the fact that one of my hands is clenched into a tight fist. I release it, and feel an odd sensation in my other hand. Apparently I had been squeezing the sausages so hard that some of them had fallen apart in the packaging. 

What the hell.

When I look back up, Antonia is placing the chair next to her own, back to being friendly and approachable. She sits, looks at me, and pats the chair.

Behind me, I can practically feel Jessica’s excitement. 

I sit and say nothing. Thankfully, Antonia starts to talk.

“I apologize if I was acting weird when you first spoke to me. I was thinking about something, and you startled me out of my thoughts.”

“Oh, I’m sorry—“

“No, don’t apologize, you had every reason to confront me.” She looks sheepish. “I was observing you, because you looked familiar, but I couldn’t figure out where I had seen you before. Of course, by the time I had thought of your father, you were already yelling at me for glaring at you.” She laughs.

I do the same, though while hers sounds rich and beautiful, mine is a garbled wheeze of air.

“So, Bella, I’m sorry for glaring at you. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

Now that it’s my turn to talk, I do it in a rush. “It’s fine, don’t worry, I was super weird about it and you don’t need to apologize.” 

Her eyebrows arch upwards. “You weren’t weird at all! In fact, I found you very interesting.”

“What?” I choke.

She rests her chin on her palm, holding eye contact. “Yes. I couldn’t figure out why you were upset. You’re hard to read.”

I blush, because of course my stupid brain takes that as a compliment, and not as a subtle hint that I probably shouldn’t be randomly yelling at people.

So I’m pleased. And flustered. And at ease.

Until I’m reminded of something. I’m finally able to see how Antonia and Rosalie are siblings, because Antonia is acting exactly how Rosalie was when my dad had pulled her over. Overly charming, complimentary, engaging me in conversation, perhaps drawing me away from something she doesn’t want to talk about.

Somehow, I know it’s all fake.

“I don’t think you were trying to figure out who I was,” I say slowly.

Antonia’s expression doesn’t change, though something moves in her eyes, a flash of an odd color. “Hmm?” She hums, and the sound is so sweet I almost forget what I was going to say.

Almost.

“I don’t know,” I say pressing on, “but I don’t think you’re telling me the whole truth.”

She blinks, and there’s that flash of color again, too quick to recognize. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Me neither,” I say, because it’s the truth. I have no idea what I’m talking about.

But I know that Antonia is trying to distract me, with her cheerful attitude and warm vocal tones. She’s deflecting from something. I have no idea what that could be, or why she would want to hide something from someone she just met, but there’s something.

This theory is somewhat proven as her smile starts to change. It grows more fixed with every passing second, making it obvious that this entire exchange is something of a facade.

I raise my eyebrows, and give her a knowing smile of my own.

And now, like how it was with Rosalie in the car, Antonia’s expression turns completely blank. Everything falls away, revealing only searching eyes and a sense of danger.

But this time, I’m expecting it. “It was really nice to meet you. Your name’s Antonia, right?”

She nods slowly.

I stand up from my chair. “Yeah, everyone around here talks about you guys. Like my dad.” I look across the stage, and am happy to see Charlie talking to Jessica and Angie. “I need to get back to my friends, but we should definitely chat again at some point.” I flash her one last grin. “I’m gonna be in Dorwall for a year or so, should give us plenty of time to catch up.”

“Yes, I look forward to it,” Antonia says, though it sounds more automatic than anything.

I leave her with that, and march back to my old seat, feeling strangely triumphant. The prickle on the back of my neck tells me she’s still staring at me, and she’s not the only one. Out of the corner of my eye, I can spot Rosalie and Emmet turning their heads, following my path across the stage. I’m willing to bet that Jasper and Alice are watching me too, along with Carlisle and Emma.

I appear to have made an impression. 

When I get back to the others, Angie’s the first to bombard me with questions. “What happened? Did you get in a fight? Things looked really tense over there, are you two okay? Is she mad at you?” 

“Everything’s fine, it was just a misunderstanding. We both apologized, and I introduced myself,” I say.

Angie still looks worried, but before she can ask anything else, Jessica steps in. “Okay I know that probably wasn’t a big deal to you, but what you just did was fucking spectacular,” she tells me, completely straight faced.

“Uh, thanks?”

Jessica shoves her phone in my face, and I watch a ten second snapchat video of me talking to Antonia. In the background, you can hear Angie desperately trying to convince Jessica to put down the phone. The video ends with Antonia looking over, and the screen going blurry when Angie intervenes.

“I sent that to Mike,” Jessica says, her eyes wide. “He’s been trying to get in with the Cullens for _ages.”_

“What?” My dad says. He’s been standing off to one side, watching this exchange with a weird look on his face. My guess is he approves of me being social, but he doesn’t want me starting problems with people. At least on my first day.

I toss him the package of ruined sausages, which he catches awkwardly. “I was just introducing myself to Antonia over there. We had a small chat. She’s nice.”

We all look back across the stage. Alice and Jasper have joined Antonia, and she doesn’t look happy about it. Alice is excitedly talking about something, and Antonia’s struggling to get a word in. Jasper has a hand on her shoulder, probably keeping her in her seat. It’s all kinda cute, actually.

“So,” I say, turning back to the others. “Is there going to be an actual campfire, or what?”

Turns out there’s a large grate in the middle of the stage. When it’s pulled up and flipped over, there’s a fire pit underneath. It takes about fifteen minutes of a bunch of dads trying and failing to start the fire, before Jasper stalks over, does something quick with his hands, and the fire’s blazing. My dad grumbles something about kids with lighters, but stops when I give him a look.

Families and friends pull up their chairs around the fire pit. It’s clearly a “bring your own hot dogs” sort of deal, and since I’ve ruined our sausages beyond repair, our little group cooks the marshmallows Angie brought with her. Mike joins us too, and spends of the rest of the evening trying to pull every last detail of my conversation with Antonia out of me. Alex, Angie’s boyfriend, comes over and introduces himself. He’s a nice kid with a big smile, with a sort of gentle demeanor that must really work for Angie. Jessica gives him a hard time, and we all laugh while Alex struggles to answer her questions and Angie turns red all over.

It’s great, but I’m still tired from the flight, so Charlie and I leave early. Jessica grabs my phone and plugs in everyone’s contact information, and demands that I keep in touch. The “Or else” is heavily implied.

My dad, the handyman that he is, starts helping a family move their cooler up the wooden stairs. I walk behind them, listening in on their conversation.

“It’s kinda strange that Billy and his kids didn’t show up,” the other dad is saying.

Charlie chuckles. “Nah, you know how he is. The only social gatherings he likes are the ones he organizes himself, paranoid old bastard.”

Billy Black, my dad’s best friend and fishing buddy, is more of an antisocial homebody than a paranoid elder. His family lives in Pushen, a small town surrounding a lake, fifteen minutes away from Dorwall. My dad used to make me come fishing with them. It was only fun when Billy’s kids came along, two twin girls who were four years older than me and therefore cool. Rebecca and Rachel were kind enough to let me tag after them, though I haven’t seen either of them in years.

“I heard Billy was having a bit of trouble with his son.”

My dad’s good nature fades a bit at that comment. “That’s his business,” he says, and I’m immediately interested.

The other guy tries to backtrack. “I’m just wondering if thing’s are alright, I’m not trying to gossip.” 

A boldface lie, and my dad sees through it too. But, he’s good sport, and doesn’t react too much. “Jacob’s a good kid. He’s doing great in school, got on the junior varsity football team this year. I like him.”

I vaguely remember Billy having a son, a skinny little boy who loved showing me his Pokemon trading card collection. He must be around high school age now.

We reach the top of the stairs, my dad says goodbye to the family, and we walk back to the police cruiser. As soon as the doors are shut, he starts to rant. “People around here need to stop prying into business they have no part in.” He grapples with his seatbelt, yanking it over his chest. “Bunch of idiots, thinking they know more than they do.”

I just sit there, trying to guess what he’s talking about without asking. 

“Billy and his kids have been through enough shit. They don’t need people like _Phil Julian_ prying into their personal lives.”

I decide staying quiet is boring. “What happened?”

My dad looks over at me, then seems to remember who I am and why I’m sitting in his car. He starts up the engine, and releases some of his anger with a tense sigh. “Three years ago, Billy’s wife was killed by some hit-and-run driver. Scumbag left her bleeding on the side of the road, didn’t call anyone about it.” 

I stare at the side of my dad’s face as we pull out of the parking lot. He’s never told me this, and I knew Sara Black when I was a kid. She knit me a scarf once, so I wouldn’t be cold when my dad dragged me out on the fishing boat with Billy. She could fish the two of them out of the water. 

I didn’t know she had died.

Before I can state the obvious, my dad says, “I’m sorry.”

“I knew her, Dad.”

“I know. I should have told you, but I…” He trails off.

I narrow my eyes, knowing I’m not going to like what comes next. “What?”

“I didn’t want to give you another reason not to come to Dorwall.”

My dad, as per usual, is refusing to look at me. But this time, I’m mad about it. _“What?!”_

He swallows. “You told me you hated coming here to visit. You wanted me to start flying to Arizona.”

“And you did! You came to Arizona!”

“Yes, eventually. But at the time, I wanted you to visit me. Telling you about Sarah might have—“

“That’s terrible, Dad. This isn’t about you.”

We reach a stop sign, and Charlie brings us to a rather jerky stop. “I know, and I shouldn’t have done that, but that wasn’t my only reason for not telling you.”

“Really? What else was there, not wanting to make me unhappy? Kinda failed at that one.”

_“Isabella,”_ he snaps, and I fall back in my seat with a huff. “I didn’t know how I was supposed to tell you! I was busy helping Billy and his kids get through the year, not to mention the all shit I had to deal with. Sarah was my friend!” 

“But what about after, Dad?!” I throw back at him. “What about after you got through it all? Why the hell didn’t you tell me then?! She died three years ago, why am I only hearing about this now?!”

“Because by then, you didn’t want to visit, and I…” My dad, failing to come up with the right words, slams a hand on the dashboard. “Dammit Bella, I’m sorry! You’re right, you shouldn’t have found out this way, but yelling at me isn’t going to change anything!”

I keep my mouth shut for the remainder of the ride home. When we arrive, the streets are dark. There’s one street lamp about two houses down from ours, but it flickers and doesn’t offer much light. If I was in a better mood, I might be able to appreciate the slight creepiness of all this. A rural-suburban neighborhood, surrounded by giant trees, late at night, freezing cold, and a flickering street lamp. The perfect setting for 1980’s horror movie.

But I’m still mad, so I ignore all this. When Charlie pulls up in the driveway, I push my way out of the car and stomp up the gravel walk. There’s an unexpected moment when I reach the front door and realize I don’t have keys yet, so I have to wait for my dad to come up and unlock it for me. Then, like I’m sixteen again, I skulk inside the house with a plan to head straight for my room and slam the door behind me. 

But then my dad has the guts to say, “Want something to eat?” like we didn’t just have a screaming match in the car.

I’m about to yell at him again, but then I remember he went shopping to stock up for me, so then I feel guilty, but the guilt is quickly replaced with more anger, because how can he go to all this effort to prepare for me physically, but refuse to tell me the important shit?!

I don’t say anything, which my dad takes as an agreement, and he walks to the kitchen.

I grew up around the Black family, given how close Billy and my dad are. Sarah, who I knew as Mrs. Black, always made an effort to curb my homesickness. We weren’t close, but I liked her, and I think I deserve to know when someone I like dies. Especially if that someone died three years ago. If it had been recent, perhaps I wouldn’t be so upset. If Sarah had died last year, I would probably give my dad a break. But he has no excuse for not telling me.

Well, no reasonable excuse.

I’m upset because I think I’m starting to understand why he kept Sarah’s death a secret. My mom teases me, calls me her little emotion hoarder, because I like to take my emotions and box them up in the back of my head in case I might need them someday. This is why when I get upset, I _really_ get upset, because my brain sees the opportunity to put my feelings to full use. Charlie’s like this too, especially when it comes to sad stuff. He’s so good at avoiding certain topics, he probably has a superpower. 

Jesus Christ, I was supposed to be working on this with him, not yelling at him. I’ve only been here one day. One fucking day. 

He needs to know if I’m going to share anything about this past year with him, he’s gotta share stuff with me too. That’s how families work. I think. At least, that’s what my mom says when I don’t share leftover Pizza Hut with her.

Goddammit, I’m hungry. All I’ve had to eat today was a pack of airplane peanuts and six burnt marshmallows. My dad has a pot of boiling water on the stove. By the looks of it, he’s making pasta. I experience a surreal moment where my brain wants me to go upstairs and pout while my stomach wants me to suck it up and eat. As per usual, my stomach wins the argument, and I head towards the little table that’s midway between the kitchen and the living room. 

My eyes follow Charlie as he cooks. It’s a weird thought that I don’t really know my own dad. I have no idea what these past three years have been like for him and Billy. Did he do that thing where you bring food for the family during their time of grief? There must have been a funeral, a small family affair. Did he go? Did he speak? Did he cry? 

What else hasn’t he told me?

I start thinking, and latch onto something, just to start fighting again. “Dad, I really don’t appreciate you calling up people to be my friends.”

He has his back to me, facing the stove. “What’re you talking about?”

“Jessica. You called her.”

“I didn’t—“

“Dad.”

He huffs out a breath, but still doesn’t turn to face me. “Bella,” he says, his voice low in his chest, “I don’t know what to tell you.”

“What about the truth?” My voice raises with my impatience, and I know I’m starting a fight over something that doesn’t matter, but I don’t care. “You were worried I wasn’t going to talk to anybody.”

My dad sighs, his shoulders falling a bit. “With you, Bella, that’s a reasonable worry.”

“Well, I hoped I proved you wrong today,” I snap. “You saw me at the campfire.”

“Yup. Jessica told me you yelled at a girl for glaring at you.” He pours a box of pasta into the pot.

“I started a conversation! We talked, and I met Angie and her boyfriend, and—“ 

He slams the pasta box on the counter, and turns with a glare. “Bella! Enough!” 

“What?!”

“Look, I’m sorry for not telling you about Sarah. That was wrong of me, and I know it. You were fading away from me out in Arizona, and I didn’t want to be the bearer of bad news when I came to visit.”

“That’s not your choice to make, Dad.” I slump back in my chair, all the anger wrought out of me. “I didn’t know her that well, but I should have known. I should trust my dad to tell me stuff like that.”

“I know,” Charlie says, and the kitchen is quiet but for the bubbling of the pasta.

Really, the only thing that’s pushing me away from my dad is not the sad news, but the feeling that we’ll never be able to talk. I came to Dorwall with the hopes that I’d be able to tell someone what happened, like my dad, but apparently that’s not realistic.

And suddenly, I’m no longer hungry. I mutter some excuse about being tired, and head up to my bedroom. My dad lets me go, though I can tell he’s about as happy as I am with tonight’s proceedings. But I don’t care. I’d like some time to myself to think about Sarah Black.

My phone buzzes when I reach the top of my stairs. As soon as I see “Mom” on the screen, I curse out loud. I’d promise to Skype her.

_You ready to Skype? I can’t wait to hear about the wonders of Oregon!_ The message reads.

I text back with guilty fingers. _sorry mom, i’m really tired. is it ok if we talk tomorrow?_

The response is almost immediate. _Of course! Whenever you feel up to it! Get some rest, I love you! <3 <3_

Feeling a little better, I go to my room, and fish my pajamas out of one of the unopened suitcases. The last thing I do before getting into bed, is check the weather forecast for tomorrow. Warm, humid, and overcast. For the rest of the week. Lovely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Antonia is Gay and Useless, more news at 11.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI YES I FORGOT TO UPDATE BUT THIS ONE WAS READY AGES IN ADVANCE

I’m walking through a forest with a pack of giant sausages. They’re hoisted over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes. But they’re not. They’re a pack of sausages. The sun’s going down, and I’m trying to catch up to Mike and Jessica. It doesn’t occur to me that I can leave the sausages behind, because they’re important, and if I show up to the campfire without them, everyone’s going to eat me instead.

Someone whispers my name, so naturally, I jump above the redwood trees. I immediately expect to fall back to the ground and die, and the anticipation causes the world to go dark.

But I’m not falling. I’m standing on the side of a road, no trees or sausages in sight. It’s raining.

“Huh,” I say.

_“Bella,”_ someone replies.

I look around. There’s nothing but the road, no houses or sidewalks or greenery. Just a long stretch of black. I’m standing at the very edge, but I don’t want to step on the tar. That would be bad, for some reason. 

_“Bella,”_ the voice repeats, more urgent.

I can’t figure out where it’s coming from, so I turn in all directions. There’s a familiar street lamp to my right, so I start to head towards it. Its light flickers, and as I move closer, I notice something sprawled beneath it. I think it might be a sack, or a small pile of garbage.

_“Bella.”_

No, that’s not garbage, that’s a person, and they’re calling for me. I pick up the pace, but the faster I go, the further I am from the light.

The person lying on the road is in great distress, and they start groaning my name, saying it over and over like it’s a mantra meant to save them. I’m desperate to get to them now, but my legs are sluggish, and it’s a great effort to remain upright. 

Just when I’m beginning to give up hope, I’m there. Kneeling at their side, still not touching the road, and staring down at the face of Sarah Black. She’s bleeding all over, her body lying sprawled and broken on the dark asphalt. Her breaths are ragged, and when she speaks, blood trickles out of her mouth.

_“Bella,”_ she wheezes.

“I’m here,” I tell her, and reach for her hand. I fumble with it, and it flops uselessly before I grab hold. “I’m here, what happened?”

She stares into my eyes, and I can tell it won’t be long before she’s dead. _“No one’s here,”_ she tells me.

“No, no, I’m here, I’m right here with you, it’s alright.”

_“They left me.”_

“Who did?”

_“They killed me.”_

“Who killed you?!”

But then she’s gone, leaving nothing but a pool of her own blood. The street light flickers out, and I’m surrounded by darkness. Confused, I stand and stumble forward, stepping onto the road.

A hulking red mass lunges towards me, claws outstretched and fangs dripping—

:

:

:

I wake up shivering. It takes a full minute of me staring at lilac colored walls to remember where I am. 

My dreams aren’t usually that vivid. The image of Sarah Black’s dead eyes remain fresh in my mind.

I’m still shaking, but not out of fear. My room is freezing, and despite my bedsheets and warm pajamas, I can’t feel my toes. There’s frost climbing the window of my reading nook.

There’s no way I can go back to sleep when I’m this cold and freaked out. I crawl to the end of my bed and tug one of my suitcases onto my lap, so I can grab some socks for the dangerous trek across the hardwood floor. There must be something wrong with my dad’s cooling system.

Sure enough, when I get downstairs, my dad’s swearing and running around the living room in his coat. I stand at the foot of the stairs and watch him.

“The heater’s gone to shit,” he says when he notices me.

I frown. Guess we’re not talking about the fight we had last night. “The heater?”

“Yeah. It’s freezing in here, couldn’t you tell?”

“But…” I glance at the window in the kitchen, looking outside the house. “It’s summer.”

My dad lets out a sharp laugh. “Tell that to the weather.”

Confused, I follow him to the kitchen, where he’s thankfully brewing a pot of coffee. “I checked the forecast last night. It said it was going to be warm.”

My dad shakes his head, and gets out two mugs from a cabinet. “You can’t trust those weather apps around here. They’re always wrong. Just assume it’s gonna be cold.” He pours us both a generous amount of coffee, then hesitates. “How do you like yours?”

“Two sugars no cream,” I answer automatically, then immediately follow up with, “I knew Dorwall was cloudy, but I don’t remember it being this cold when I came to visit.”

“Well, it’s only been like this for the past few years. Some folks say it’s just a freak spurt that’ll go away in another month or so. I say it’s pollution.” 

“I’m pretty sure that’s not how it works.”

My dad smiles, and hands me my cup of coffee. “Okay Miss Smarty, how many winter clothes did you bring from Arizona?”

My face falls. “Uh—“

“Don’t worry, I figured you’d be unprepared.” And with that, he leaves the room.

I’m left standing alone in the kitchen for a second, wondering whether I should be annoyed or impressed that my dad managed to diss me, before he comes back with his wallet. 

“Oh god, no Dad, it’s fine, I don’t need—“ I start to protest, but he’s already shoving cash in my hands. 

He cuts me off. “Like I said, I planned for this. I’m fine. Go out and buy what you need.”

“I can’t just live off your money while I’m here.”

“I’m sure you’re already planning on getting a job.” He gives me a knowing look, and I smile weakly. “Use this shopping trip to scout your options.”

I stare down at the money, and clutch it close to my chest. “Thanks, Dad.”

“No problem. Just do me a favor, and get someone to go with you.”

I nod, and he gives me a hug that’s so quick I barely know it’s happening until it’s over. He mutters something about going into work, and leaves. I’m left alone in a cold house with a cup of coffee and handful of money. At least I have plans for the day.

When I text Jessica, she replies immediately, with plenty of emojis and a promise to plan out our entire day so I can see “the best that Dorwall has to offer!!!” (I’ve probably already seen that, but I play along because she’s sweet.) Angie says she’ll join us later, since she works at the local coffee shop in the morning. I glance at the time as I get ready, throwing on the same hoodie and jeans I wore last night. It’s 10 AM, which must mean I’m making a healthy choice, given that I’ve slept past noon every day since I dropped out of college. Yay me.

Ten minutes later, a car horn honks outside. I rush downstairs, panic for a moment because my dad didn’t give me a set of keys to lock up with, but then I see something on the lamp table next to the front door. 

It’s a set of car keys with a house key attached to them, on a chain with a big fluffy purple ball, lying next to a note which reads: _So you won’t lose these._

I hold up the keys by the fluffy ball, and wonder if this is my dad’s version of humor. The honking outside derails that dangerous train of thought, so I rush outdoors, fiddle with the door lock, and turn to find Jessica leaning out the driver’s window of Mike’s red jeep.

“Get in loser, we’re going shopping!” she shouts at me, grinning wildly. “Literally! We are literally going shopping! Get your ass over here!”

I think I love her.

She’s practically bouncing in her seat as I climb into the jeep. “Did you hear how I worked in that Mean Girl’s reference?”

“Yes. Subtle.”

Jessica laughs, and cranes her neck to check her lipstick in the rearview mirror. She must have gotten ready in record time, yet she looks very color coordinated. An oversized pink sweater with bows on the sleeves, bright purple leggings, a sparkly beanie, and winged eyeliner. She looks like the cover of teen Vogue.

“Does Mike know we’re using his jeep?”

“Nope!” She pops her lips. “But he doesn’t get off work until three, so let’s fucking _go!”_

I laugh as we peel away from the curb, and race towards Dorwall’s downtown area.

If I was ever worried about starting up a friendship with Jessica despite not seeing her for years, she diminishes that by spending the entire drive telling me about her life. She covers such topics such as…

“My mom’s Japanese and my dad’s a full ginger. I’m talking red hair and freckles, the whole shebang. They come together and make me, and we somehow end up in Oregon, where the population is pretty much ninety percent white. No idea how that happened.”

Also…

“I’ve known Angie for years. She’s quiet, but she’s the truest friend you’ll ever meet. A real ride or die bitch, only she’s not a bitch.”

And most importantly…

“Don’t let Mike trick you into thinking he’s cool because he can do a French inhale when he’s smoking weed. It took him a full month to master that, and I almost had to drive his dumb ass to the hospital when he swallowed one.”

I’m grinning from ear to ear by the time we reach the little shopping center. We park, then re-park because the first attempt was horrible, and Jessica reaches for the radio dial. “Shit!” she cries. “I forgot to turn on the radio!” She turns to me with a wince. “Sorry, I talked the whole time again, didn’t I?”

I smile. “Don’t worry, I was entertained.”

“Oh. Good!” she says as I get out of the car. She follows suit, hurrying to my side. “Okay, the first place we’ll need to go is the outdoorsy store a block down. They have the warmest coats, and you’ll need at least one of those if you’re going to survive.”

“Speaking of which,” I say as we start to walk, “What’s up with the weather around here?”

This must be a popular topic, because Jessica rolls her eyes with an enthusiastic, “I know, right?! It’s insane. I mean, it’s the middle of June, and there’s frost everywhere. What the fuck.”

She starts going off about buying mittens when she should be buying suntan lotion, and I get a good look at Downtown Dorwall. It doesn’t look too different up close. Like my dad said, all the shops from when I was little are still here. Little touristy places, two pet stores, a pottery studio, a fabric shop, and Phil’s hardware store. The little movie theatre I loved is still up and running, showing off this summer’s latest superhero blockbuster. 

“Note of warning, don’t work there if you want a job,” Jessica says. I raise my eyebrows, and she shakes her head. “You don’t want to know.”

I sort of do, but I take Jessica’s cue and nod along. 

We walk into Outdoor’s Supply, which is next to an ice cream parlor which has somehow not gone out of business. The door gives a pleasant little ding as we enter. It all smells like my dad, leather and cloth and sawdust. Jessica takes the lead, making a bee-line for the back of the store where the coats are on display. I follow a few steps behind, looking around with slight curiosity. I don’t think I’d mind working here. It might be useful, to learn a few things about the semi-wilderness that surrounds Dorwall. If the store gives an employee discount, I can buy cool stuff, like a swiss army knife and a hatchet. 

“Denim or leather?” Jessica calls out.

“Denim,” I answer in a quieter tone, in the hopes that she will follow suit. I hurry forward to look at the two jackets Jessica is holding up. The only difference I see is that one of them has a woolen collar. I shrug. “They both look good to me.”

Her eyes widen. “Are you sure?”

I smile a little. I get the feeling fashion aesthetic is a big deal for Jessica. “Why don’t you choose for me?”

She looks hard at me for a moment, sees that I’m serious, then turns to the jackets and starts muttering to herself. I leave her to her inner dialogue, and wander off to explore.

After staring at some fishing lures and granola bars, I stumble across an entire section dedicated to bear repellent. I inch down the aisle, stopping to look at every brand, because apparently there’s more than two brands. Are there bears in Oregon? Probably. Are there bears in Dorwall? Probably not. But the sheer novelty of having to choose between at least ten different brands of bear repellent is enough to have me picking up a few cans and reading the back labels. I’m at the point where I start checking the prices—buy two get one free—when someone behind me clears their throat.

I whirl around, brandishing the unopened repellent. Alice Cullen stares back at me. She looks amused.

“Oh,” I say.

“Good thing I’m not a bear,” she chirps, “though I’m sure those do a pretty good job of repelling humans too.”

I laugh nervously, and quickly put the can back on its shelf. “Sorry, I didn’t see you.”

Alice smiles, and my eyes are immediately drawn to her teeth, glistening white behind wine colored lips. “No worries. You got good survival instincts.”

“Uh, thanks.”

“You’re welcome!” She rocks back on her heels, moving out of my personal space in the process. “You’re name’s Bella, right? Can I help you with anything?”

“…No?”

She giggles, and I’m suddenly seventy degrees warmer. “I work here, dummy.” She hooks her thumbs under the bright neon vest she’s wearing, making the shop’s logo pop out at me. “Employed and on the clock!”

I have to physically stop myself from saying, “Oh,” again, because apparently I am incapable of maintaining any of my mental capabilities around the Cullens. 

“I’m actually kinda in the market for a job,” I manage. “Think I should apply here?”

Alice bites her lip, and holy shit I need to stop staring at this girl’s mouth. “Hmm.” She looks me up and down, and I fight the urge to pull up my jeans and fix my hair and shove my entire face into the metal display of bear repellant. When her eyes reach my face, they slide off to one side a bit, like she’s looking at something far away.

And then, just for a second, I see a flicker of light in her left pupil. Like what I saw in Anotnia’s eyes at the campfire. Alice’s eyes are dark, but I swear I can see some sort of weird, bright color.

But then she’s back to smiling at me, and there’s nothing wrong with her eyes. “I don’t know if you would really enjoy it here. You have to clean out the fly traps in the back, and these vests aren’t exactly fashion chic.”

She’s right, but they still manage to look good on her.

“Why don’t you try out the bookstore across the street from the theatre? I get the feeling you’ll really like it there.” She winks at me.

I’m caught off guard, but I smile. “Yeah. Bookstore sounds cool, I like reading books.”

_Cool, Bella. You like eating food, too? And lying down? And looking at things?_

Alice straightens up, looking somewhat satisfied. “Great! I think your friend’s about done picking out your jacket.”

I stare at her. “What?”

“Bella!” Jessica calls from the back. “I picked out your jacket!”

I turn. Jessica’s holding up the denim jacket with the wool collar, displaying it like a game show host. I turn back to Alice, but she’s gone. Confused, I look around, and find her at the register. She smiles at me, and beckons me over.

And I start to walk towards her, until I remember I need to grab the jacket from Jessica before I can pay, so I stop in my tracks. As I do, Alice’s smile falters a bit.

I go to Jessica, take the jacket, and hurry over to the counter. “So, this is like, twenty bucks? The tag says there’s a sale.”

No answer. I look up, and Alice is staring at me. It’s the same as before; blank face, no expression, immediate sense of danger, I need to _run._

I blink and she’s pressing buttons on the register, ringing up my jacket and humming cheerfully. I look to Jessica to see if she noticed, but all her attention’s on her phone.

Alice hands me a bag with my jacket over the counter. I take it from her carefully, still feeling on edge. “You know, if you want to get a job at the bookstore, you should probably head there next. Cathy opens up shop, then immediately goes out for coffee, so you need to be quick to catch her.”

I look out the front window of the store. Sure enough, there’s a little old woman at the shop across the street. She’s fiddling with the front door. 

I turn back to Alice. “Is that Cathy?”

She bobs her head. “Yes. You should go to her. Now.”

Either Alice really wants me to get this job, or she wants me out of her store. I tap Jessica on the shoulder. “Hey, can we go to the bookstore? They might give me a job.”

Jessica looks up from her phone. “What? Oh, yeah. Sounds good.”

“Hurry!” Alice calls out as we leave. 

“What’s the rush?” Jessica mutters.

I open my mouth to explain, but shut it upon seeing who’s helping Cathy with the door keys. Antonia, seemingly appearing out of nowhere, is smiling and chatting with the book store owner. She’s dressed in a blue coat which probably costs more than my net worth as a person. Her long brown hair flows freely down her back, with some loose strands framing her cheeks. She’s wearing heeled boots, so she towers over the little old woman. Cathy looks happy for the help though, and there’s no trace of the fear I feel when I’m near Antonia. Jessica and I watch as they enter the shop.

“We’re not going to jump her, right?” Jessica asks.

I turn so fast my neck hurts. “What?!”

She shrugs. “You were staring at Antonia all dramatically.” She imitates me, standing straight and narrowing her eyes in intense focus. “Like she was stepping on your turf or something. Is that what you guys talked about yesterday? Are we in a turf war?”

“No.”

“Oh.” She looks disappointed. “Pity.”

“Are you always like this?”

“Not when I’m drunk. Then I’m _worse.”_ She takes my jacket bag from me, and marches merrily across the street. I follow and look down the street for both of us, since I’m the only one worried about being run over. 

When we step in the store, we’re faced with a blockade of bookshelves. It’s the worse bookstore layout I’ve ever seen, and I used to frequently visit Barnes and Noble. The shelves are mismatched pieces of furniture. China cabinets, kitchen cupboards, filing drawers; there’s no consistency. The books themselves look like they’re in good shape, but from what I can see there’s only about one copy of each book. There’s a cash register lodged between a wooden bed stand and a metal closet, so this can’t be a library. Why only get single copies, then?

Jessica tugs my sleeve, and I drag my eyes away from the strange display. “Hey. When you talk to Antonia—“

“I’m not going to talk to Antonia.”

_“When_ you talk to Antonia,” she gives me a knowing look, “try not to piss her off. I know I was joking out there, but it’d probably be best if you didn’t get in a fight with a rich girl.”

I roll my eyes. “We’re not fighting. I told you yesterday, there was a misunderstanding and we had a very nice conversation.”

Jessica hums, and runs a finger along the spines of the books in the historical fiction section. “I believe you. Sort of. But I also like you. And just in case you’re right and the Cullen’s are a bunch of secret robots, I’d rather you try to avoid getting your brain downloaded into their super computer.”

I snort. “You watch way too much TV.”

She grins, and nods in the direction of Cathy, who’s heading back towards the front door.I sidestep into her line of path, but in doing so I underestimate how far she can see, and she nearly runs right into me.

“The money’s in the back, there’s no key,” she tells me in a calm tone.

“What?”

She blinks up at me from behind the thickest pair of glasses I have ever seen. “The money. In the register. You’re here for that, right?”

It takes me a moment to understand. “Oh! No, I’m not here to rob you!” I cry.

She looks confused, though that may just be her face. “Then why are you here?” She looks me over. “Am I being sued?”

“No ma’am! I’m here for a job, actually. If you’re hiring,” I add quickly, feeling stupid.

She crinkles up her eyebrows, and takes off her glasses with shaky hands. Her eyes are a bright blue despite her—what I’m now assuming to be _very_ old—age. She stares into my eyes, then cracks a toothy grin. “Sorry kiddo, guess I’m not used to seeing strangers around here. When I see a new face in my shop, I just assume the worst.”

I laugh awkwardly. “Well, it certainly sounds like you need help, if that’s your reaction to getting robbed.”

She shrugs it off. “When you get to my age, you gotta roll with the punches before one gets you in the neck and kills you dead.” 

My laugher trickles away due to that rather morbid image. 

She takes hold of both my hands. “My name is Cathy Bean. You must be Charlie’s little girl, Isabella.”

“Most people call me Bella.”

“I don’t care,” she says, still cheerful. “If you want a job hon, you’ve got it. I need to go drink a cup of joe, watch the store while I’m gone.” She pats the back of my hands twice, then starts to shuffle past me.

“Now? But what if a customer comes in?” I cry in a panic.

She waves at me without turning around. “Don’t worry, they won’t.” And with that, she opens the door, and leaves.

I stare after her, not sure how to feel about landing a job within seconds of meeting a potential employer. Am I happy? Sure, let’s go with that.

I turn around to give Jessica a smile, but she’s gone, disappeared among the shelves. “Jessica?” I call out. “I got the job!”

Nothing. Well, guess this gives me a chance to explore the store while I search for a missing friend who may or may not have just ditched me. The books and shelves, though crazily placed, are in pretty good shape. The selection is strange, but well organized. I find myself in the fantasy section, though I soon discover that Cathy Bean’s version of fantasy would only be modern and relevant back in the 1940’s. But, good old Tolkein is lying around, so I pick it up and enjoy the first few words of Bilbo’s story. 

“Cute book, though the author clearly has an unhealthy obsession with trees.”

I do that stupid thing where you’re holding something and someone scares you and you nearly drop the thing you’re holding. Antonia Cullen is studying me, a book in her hand, which she is managing to hold like a normal person. 

“Hey,” I say.

Antonia gives me a look that’s almost accusing. “When you told me you wanted to talk again at some point, I didn’t think you would seek me out so soon.”

“Wait, you think I followed you here?”

She shrugs.

Indignant, I close the book with a snap that’s probably too rough for it’s old binding. “This is my first day in Dorwall, I’m checking out the only interesting place in town. We both know there was a pretty big chance we’d run into each other today, so maybe…you should…reconsider.” I slow down when I notice her lips twitching, and sigh. “You’re messing with me.”

She smiles. “I overheard you talking to Mrs. Bean. Congratulations on the job.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t know if that’s really something I should be congratulated on.” I put _Lord of the Rings_ back on its shelf. “Sounds like there wasn’t a lot of competition before me.”

“That’s a polite way of putting it.” Antonia strokes a hand down the side of a shelf, a fond look in her eye. “Not many people appreciate this place. Mrs. Bean hardly scrapes by, though the rent is pretty cheap for Oregon.”

“She seems nice,” I say, for lack of anything else.

“She is.” Antonia turns to look at me. “Why do you want a job?”

I shrug. “It’s pretty self explanatory.”

“For me it isn’t,” she says, and I get the feeling she’s telling the truth. I remember she said something last night about finding me hard to read. Maybe she’s actually curious about my life.

Before I can give her an answer, Antonia straightens her posture and cocks her head slightly to one side. “You ran into my sister before you came over here.” It’s not a question.

“Uh, yeah. We did.”

Antonia looks away and calls Alice something under her breath. I’m pretty sure it’s Italian, and not very nice.

“How did you guess we ran into Alice?” I ask.

Antonia replies distractedly, still looking away from me and glaring at the shelves. “Jessica is in the store too.”

“I mean, yeah, but what does that have to do with anything?”

She seems to snap out of her mood, and turns so I’m staring at the profile of her cheekbone rather than her eyes. “Nothing,” she grumbles.

Dear god this girl is weird. I really don’t want to talk to her anymore, so I come up with the perfect excuse and tell her, “I’m gonna go look at books now.” 

Amazing.

I pivot on my heels and attempt a quick get away, but Antonia’s voice calls me back. “What did Alice tell you in the supply store?”

I turn back to face her with the resigned knowledge that this conversation won’t be over until Antonia decides it. Where the fuck is Jessica when you need her? “She just said that Cathy had room to hire, and I better hurry if I wanted to catch her before she left to get coffee.” Antonia doesn’t look satisfied with that answer, so I sarcastically add, “She didn’t tell me to come over and talk to you, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“And why should I believe that?” she snaps. 

I stand there, confused for all of three seconds, before my temper flares and I walk forward into Antonia’s personal space. She doesn’t budge, just watches me approach with her head held high and her dark eyes locked on mine. “Okay, I don’t care if you’re fighting with your sister or if you’re pissed at me for daring to talk to you last night, but you need to get over yourself.” I feel a small amount of satisfaction when her giant eyebrows rise. “I came in here to get a job. Nothing else.”

“So you weren’t planning on interrogating me about my secret robot family?”

That cuts off my anger. I study her expression, but she’s completely straight-faced. “You heard us talking when we came in,” I decide. 

“Well, that’s obvious.”

And my temper’s back. “Why accuse me of stalking you when you’re the one listening to my conversations?!”

“Considering you’re the one who thinks I’m a homocidal robot who’s going to, what was it, download your brain?” She folds her arms over her chest, looking smug. “I have every right to listen in.”

I’m about to say something really witty. I don’t know what it is, but I’m hoping by the time the words reach my open mouth I’ll become intelligent.

“Bella, what did I just tell you not to do?!”

I maintain eye contact with Antonia with the full knowledge that Jessica is behind me. “How mad does she look?” I whisper between my teeth.

“Disappointed, but excited,” Antonia says, without looking away from me.

I sigh. “Sounds about right.” I lower the finger I’ve only just now realized I’ve been waving in Antonia’s face, and shuffle in a small circle to face Jessica.

She does, indeed, look disappointed but excited. She’s frowning at me, but her eyes keep glancing up to Antonia. “What did I just tell you not to do?” she repeats.

“Start a fight with Antonia,” I mutter.

“And what were you just doing?”

“…Starting a fight with Antonia.” Jessica gives me a look, and I hurriedly add on, “But it wasn’t my fault! She accused me of following her!”

“No, I accused you of talking about me,” Antonia cuts in smoothly. “Which you were.”

“Shut up.”

Jessica’s eyes narrow, and she takes a few steps forward. “Were you bothering my friend?” she asks Antonia.

I get the feeling all three of us are surprised by that. I know Jessica’s pretty fearless about some things, but while I snapped at Antonia out of stupid anger, Jessica’s doing it with a clear head. Even she looks startled at what she just said.

Antonia, for her part, doesn’t look too insulted. She slips her hands in the pockets of her coat, and smiles warmly. “No, I wasn’t. Is that all you want to know?”

Jessica seems to think it over, says, “Nope,” and tosses me my jacket bag. I somehow manage to catch it, which is a miracle given my ugly history with hand-eye coordination.

“Jessica,” I warn as she moves towards Antonia. “I thought we agreed we didn’t want to start a turf war.”

She barely glances at me as she passes. “I’m not starting a turf war, I’m having a conversation,” she says in a mocking imitation of my voice.

“Okay, I don’t sound that sarcastic.”

“Yes, you do,” Antonia says.

“You stay out of this.”

“No, I want her to keep talking.” Jessica stands in front of Antonia, fists on her hips and her head held high. She looks like a tiny, Japanese American version of Wonder Woman. “What do you want to say about Bella, huh? Because she’s my friend now, and you better watch your tongue,” she states, loud and proud.

Despite the situation, I can’t help but take a moment to smile. I have a friend.

Antonia remains stoic in the face of a mad Jessica, though I can tell she’s starting to unravel under the surface. “I don’t want to say anything about Bella,” she says. Some self-centered part of my brain takes note that it’s the first time Antonia’s said my name. “I’m just interested in why she’s interested in me.”

“I’m not interested in you!” I cry, my voice several octaves higher than it usually is. Neither Jessica nor Antonia look at me, which is just as well. I get the feeling I’m no longer a subject of conflict.

Jessica straightens her back, probably in an attempt to gain some height. “You’re very pretty,” she says in a flat tone, “and your family’s cool, and I’m going to find a knock-off version of your coat later because it looks hot as hell, but Bella has gone through enough shit without you starting shit like this.”

I frown. “Um, Bella’s standing right here.”

Jessica ignores me. “So I think we should all act like adults, and try our best to get along. Sound good?”

Though she’s barely moved, Antonia’s entire demeanor has changed. She’s no longer towering over Jessica, and she’s staring at me again, though the former hostility is gone. Her head cocks to one side, and I jolt with a sudden shudder. For a moment, there had been an extreme amount of pressure at the back of my head. Probably an oncoming tension headache.

Jessica, who seems to interpret this beat of silence as consideration, nods and swipes her phone out of her pocket. “Now, I’m going to call Michael, whose calls I’ve been ignoring for the past twenty minutes. I believe he’s just discovered I stole his car.” She swivels around, and gives me a warning look. “Don’t start more shit when I’m gone.”

“I wasn’t the one who—“ I protest, but she’s already walking past me. I sigh, and look back at Antonia. “Apparently, I’m a shit starter.”

She says, “I’m sorry.”

“What?”

Antonia takes a step closer, which does nothing to improve my current mental state. “I’m apologizing,” she explains.

“No, yeah, I got that, but—“

“I realize I’ve been acting like an idiot, and I don’t want you to…have that impression of me.” She clasps her hands behind her back. “I’m sorry.”

I study her for a moment, before saying, “You’re very weird.”

Antonia nods. “I’m aware.”

Next thing I know, I’m giggling. This whole thing is so fucking ridiculous, why do I care? There’s a beautiful woman in a weird ass town who maybe wants to kill me. That’s life! “I don’t need any of this drama today,” I snicker.

Antonia doesn’t respond. She’s as still as a statue, and looks incredibly uncomfortable.

“Look,” I say, taking pity on her. “I’m going to be in Dorwall for awhile, we can’t keep having these weird encounters.” I glance behind me. Jessica’s still talking to Mike on her phone. “Jessica and I are meeting up with Angela when she gets off of work. You should come with us.”

Antonia looks incredulous. “You think I’m weird, yet you don’t mind me being around you?”

I smile. “No. I think you’re weird, and I want you to be around me.” 

She blinks. “Oh.”

I get the feeling she doesn’t get invited to places often, which is good. We’ll have common ground to discuss.

“Guess who’s gonna pay for Mike’s gas today? Me!” Jessica waltzes back and loops an arm around my shoulders, an act which involves quite a bit of lopsided choking. “You should head over to the coffee place.”

I detach myself from her clutches. “Antonia’s coming with us. We’re done fighting.”

“Really? Cool!” Jessica sounds surprised, but I can tell she was expecting this, the little schemer. “You two go on without me, I gotta pick up Mike and gas up his jeep.” She dashes to the front door before I put two and two together—she’s leaving me alone with Antonia. Again. She glances back as she opens the door, and ignores my panicked look. “Have fun!”

We watch as Jessica jogs across the street, not bothering to watch for cars. It looks like she’s whistling.

“Why do I get the feeling she planned this?” I mutter.

“She did,” Antonia says, sounding so certain I have no choice but to believe her. 

:

:

:

When Antonia and I walk through the doors of the “Peaches and Cream” cafe, heads turn. Everyone knows everyone in this town, so the sight of officer Charlie’s college drop-out daughter, hanging out with the weird Cullen girl, is probably enough to start up the rumor mill. I give a few close-lipped smiles to familiar faces, but otherwise do my best to avoid making eye contact. To my side, Antonia stands tall, surveying the cafe with a bored look on her face, the very image of uninterested beauty. If I were to snap a picture of her in this moment, it’d look the cover of some pretentious magazine. A gorgeous, racially ambiguous girl in an expensive blue coat, and murder in her gaze.

Alright, maybe I’m making up the murder part, but she’s very intimidating. The sort of girl you would have been scared to talk to in high school. Or maybe that’s just me.

I spot Angela running around in a neon orange apron, which matches the colors of the cafe. It’s strangely bright for a dreary Oregon town, with pink and orange spots painted on the walls. I’m pretty sure there’s a cat roaming around too. 

Angela gives me a look I’m familiar with, as a former retail worker. It says, “My break should have been a half hour ago, but we’re understaffed, and if I don’t give this middle-aged mom her chai latte she’s going to slice my head off with her freshly manicured nails”. I give her a smile which I hope conveys understanding and pity.

“We should sit while we wait,” Antonia says, her voice a low rumble.

I nod, and plop down at a table in the center of the cafe. I look up for Antonia, but she’s moving towards a table in a dark corner, near the restrooms. She sees me sit, but she doesn’t stop walking. With a resigned sigh, I lift myself off of my seat and trudge after her.

After Jessica left us in the book store, Mrs. Bean returned with her coffee, and an order for me and Antonia to leave her store. Apparently, it was time for her break. I have the sneaking suspicion I will enjoy working for her.

Antonia hadn’t said a word to me on our way over to the cafe, and it looks like she’s going to continue this silence. I see this as a personal challenge. When I invite someone to do something with me, I expect some sort of conversation, even if I have to manufacture it myself.

“So,” I say, after dumping my jacket bag onto the floor and easing into my chair. “You want any coffee or anything?”

She slowly shakes her head.

Oh, so we’re gonna play this game?

“Why not?” I ask her, being sure to add a bit of a challenging tone to my voice.

Antonia pauses for as long as politely possible, before saying, “I’m not a fan of caffeine.”

I nod. “Me neither. Doesn’t mix well with my system. Makes me too chatty.”

“Surprising,” Antonia drawls.

“Is that sarcasm I hear? After a promise to give a better first impression?”

Antonia raises her hands in front of her, in a playful defensive gesture. I notice she’s wearing brown leather gloves. “If I’m sarcastic, it’s with the best intentions.”

“Such as…?”

“Trying to understand you.”

I snort, and lean back in my chair. “There’s not much to understand about me.”

“On the contrary.” She rests her hands on the table, folding them over each other. She fixes me with an intense look and a small smile. “I find you to be very interesting.” 

Well, prepare for disappointment, Ms. Cullen.

“On the contrary,” I say, mimicking her low voice. Her smile fades to an unimpressed frown. “I find you to be even more interesting.” Because I’m nervous, and need something to do with my hands, I pick up a stray fork on the cafe table. “Did you drive one of your family’s sports cars today?”

She wrinkles her nose, a gesture that would be small on any other person, but given the regal prominence of her nose, it’s enough to form an entire expression. “I’m not a fan of my family’s vehicles. They're loud, and unnecessary.”

“Tell that to any man over thirty-five.”

That earns me another smile, and I feel satisfied that I’ve been able to trick her into interacting with me. Now all that’s left is to keep up this act, in which I pretend I’m not sweating my ass off from sitting so close to her. The fork I’m holding is getting pretty slippery.

“You guys moved here three years ago, right?” I ask.

Antonia starts to take off her gloves. Her movements are smooth and methodic, and I’m a bit transfixed by the process of skin being revealed underneath leather. “I take it you’ve been listening to the town gossip,” she says.

“It’s kinda hard not to.”

“Yes, I suppose so.” She doesn’t elaborate, and it takes me a second to realize she didn’t answer my question.

“So, where are you guys from?” When she still doesn’t respond, I go into more detail, twirling my fork around with what I hope looks like complete nonchalance. “I mean, you can’t be from around here.”

“Do you mean from Oregon? No, we are not from Oregon.” Again, she stops, just short of explaining. I get the feeling she’s trying to get me to talk more, which I don’t really mind, but it feels like she’s getting something out of this, something I don’t quite understand.

Then again, I’m probably reading too much into things.

“Okay miss secretive, where did you originate from?” I ask, trying to replicate the sarcastic drawl she uses, because it sounds cool and I want to sound cool. Sue me.

She leans forward, resting her chin on her palm, and flutters her long eye lashes at me. “Are you talking about my entire family, or just me specifically?”

The fork slips through my fingers. It clatters on the table during a lull in the surrounding conversations, meaning it’s super loud and super embarrassing. I can feel my face heat up. “Uh, let’s start with you, if that’s different from your family,” I say, while bending over to grab the fork. 

I grasp around blindly for a second before Antonia bends, picks up the fork, and straightens with such fluid movements, it’s almost like a dance. She sets down the fork at her side, where I surely won’t reach for it with my grabby child hands. “I was born in Italy, and moved to America when I was very young,” she tells me.

I’m surprised. “Wow. That’s cool, what happened to you accent?” I ask, before realizing that’s probably a rude thing to ask.

But Antonia deals with my awkwardness in stride. “When I first came here, I worked very hard to perfect my speaking voice. I had my father, Carlisle, teach me lessons in proper American english, and I read a lot to expand my vocabulary.”

“Well, your hard work is paying off. You sound amazing to me.” 

Her smile widens, and I’m forced to deal with the consequences of my weirdness by suffering from a sudden coughing fit. Really, today is just going great for Bella Swan. I’m the epitome of acting like a normal human being.

She waits until I’m done hacking up a lung, before continuing. “I’m the youngest out of my sisters, as I’m sure you know.”

“Yeah, Jessica mentioned something like that,” I wheeze. 

“Alice is the middle-child, so to speak. She was born in England, but she's worked on her accent alongside me. Though, if you asked her, she would gladly perform a Cockney reading of her Russian dissertation on bees.”

“She sounds fun.”

Antonia sighs. “Yes. So much fun.”

I think back to Antonia’s questioning in the book store, demands about what Alice had said to me before I walked over. The thought passes my mind that I might be playing into a super elaborate prank, orchestrated by Alice. 

Antonia continues on. “Then there’s my oldest sister, Rosalie. She was born in America. Ohio, to be exact.”

I think that over. “Italy, England, and Ohio.”

Antonia nods. “The three pillars of the world.”

I let out a surprised laugh. She’s funny! Good to know!

“Then, of course, there are my brother-in-laws, Jasper and Emmet.”

“Ooh yes, tell me the dirt on them,” I say, leaning forward as if I actually care. At this point, I’m just trying to get her to keep talking so I don’t have to.

She indulges me, looking amused at my interest. “Jasper’s lived in America his whole life. He’s somewhat amazed that he was able to marry an English girl.”

“Why’s that?”

Antonia hesitates for a second, then leans forward like she’s sharing a secret. My breath catches in my throat as she moves. Our faces are inches from each other, I could count every single one of her eyelashes if I wanted to. 

“Because he can barely talk to girls to begin with, and he’s a homebody who’d never been out of the country before he met my sister.”

“That’s cute, but why are we whispering?” I whisper.

“Because I’m confident Mrs. Lonny is typing up most of what I’m telling you. She’s sitting behind you, don’t look.”

I look, and Antonia curses under her breath. There’s a little woman with giant glasses, fingers flying furiously over an i-pad keyboard. I turn back to Antonia. “Why would she care what you tell me?”

She leans back in her chair with a small sigh. “I believe she enjoys sending anonymous tips to the local newspaper.”

“We have a local newspaper?”

“Exactly.” She winks at me, and I snort. “She, and a few other write-ins, believe my family to be part of America’s witness protection program.”

_Gee, wonder why,_ I think to myself.

There’s a long pause, wherein Antonia keeps up her weird staring act. Again, it’s amazing how still she can be. Even when I’m calm and relaxed, I could never manage to sit in such a way. Her entire body seems frozen in time every now and then, when it’s clear she’s thinking about something. Not for the first time, I wish I knew what was going on in her head, especially since it probably has something to do with me. I have a very strong urge to impress her, though I doubt I’m doing a good job

“I hope you know that I truly am sorry. For how I acted earlier,” she says.

Surprised, I rush to reassure her. “No, it’s fine. Everyone has bad days, you know?”

She shakes her head ever so slightly. “Not really.”

I try again. “There’s probably something about me that brushed you the wrong way, don’t worry about it. It happens.” 

“Not usually,” she says, her voice so low I’m not sure if I was meant to hear that.

“Guess I’m special then!” I squeak, nervous and jumpy. I know I look and sound like an idiot, but I don’t know what else to do. I challenge anyone to sit still while Antonia Cullen is staring them straight in the eye. Mind games or not, the girl’s scary. 

“You are special,” she says, stating it like a simple face and not like it’s the best thing I’ve heard all year. Which it is. “For reasons I’m constantly noticing. You talk a lot.”

Okay, maybe it’s not the best thing I’ve heard all year. Maybe it’s just more of the same.

“So, I’m special, because I talk a lot?” I ask incredulously, because I’m not so self deprecating as to believe an insult as lame as that.

“No, no, you misunderstand,” Antonia rushes to say, and I swear I hear a bit of an accent sneaking into her voice. “I like the talking, because it helps me understand you.” She waves one hand around a bit, gesturing vaguely as if to symbolize her confusion. “I don’t know what to make of you.”

I frown. “Well, yeah, you just met me.”

“No!” she says, another smile creeping onto her face. I notice a few wrinkles around her eyes when she does this, though they disappear in a second. “Just, allow me to explain.”

Oh boy do I like those words. Those words mean I don’t have to do much within the next few minutes or so. I lean back in my chair, scoot my butt into a more comfortable position, and gesture for Antonia to continue.

She offers me a slightly mocking tip of her head. “I am very good at reading people. It’s a skill I always had as a child, but when my father took me in, I truly began to understand the lengths of my talents.”

Again, I’m getting the feeling she’s leaving out something important, but I don’t know what and I don’t know if I want to know what.

Antonia glances around the room, her dark eyes darting from table to table in the cafe. “When I was small, it use to be a survival tactic, so I could avoid certain people. Now, it just happens. I barely notice anymore.” Her eyes come back to rest on me. “I hear noise constantly, Bella. I’ve grown accustomed to the barrage of information, so when I meet someone like you, it catches my attention.”

“Someone like me?” I parrot, placing a hand on my chest.

“Yes. Someone like you.” She pauses. “I have no idea what’s going on inside your head.”

The fact that I had just thought that, and am hearing it thrown back in my direction, makes me doubt it’s true. Even so, I take Antonia’s words for what they’re worth, and put on a cheerful face. “I guess that means you’ll have to keep talking to me, just to hear my thoughts.”

She smiles again, but this one’s softer, more personal. She looks less imposing. “Yes. I guess so.”

We both jump when someone slams a notepad down on the table. Well, I jump, Antonia just calmly looks to see who it is. 

Angie’s smiling at the two of us, and she looks absolutely exhausted. Her hair is sticking to her sweaty forehead, she’s got icing on her cheeks, and her grin looks plastered to her face. “Hello!” She says, in the all-too familiar homicidal cheer of the service worker. “I will join you ladies soon, I get off in ten seconds, but until then I must pretend to smile and create a comfortable atmosphere.”

This atmosphere is anything but comfortable. Angie is staring right into my eyes, and I swear I can almost feel the tick of time as the seconds go by.

“Uh, do you want us to talk or anything—“

“Ten seconds!” And just like that, the crazy grin is gone, and Angie deflates back into the shy, sweet girl I met at the campfire. “Let me grab a chair, I’ll be right back,” she says. I wince at her voice, it sounds drained without the “customer service” levels of cheer.

“Remind me to never get a job at a coffee shop,” I stage-whisper to Antonia once Angie is out of earshot.

“You’re a smart girl, I shouldn’t have to remind you.”

When I look at her, she raises her eyebrows, as if to challenge me for the compliment. I get the impulse to say what I’m thinking, which I’m pretty sure she wants me to do anyway, so I act on it.

“I will never be able to relax when I’m with you, huh?” 

I don’t expect her to say anything, and she doesn’t. Still, there’s a tension between us. I can feel it reaching across the table. It has nothing to do with any flight-or-flight response I was feeling earlier, this is something new. I hope to god I’m not the only one who feels it, because Antonia is impossible to read. She just sits across from me, upright and still, as if she’s waiting for me to do something.

She’s gonna be waiting for a long time, because I’m about as active as a brick wall.

Angie returns with her apron in one hand and a chair in the other. She sits, and starts to talk. In the next half hour or so, I learn a few things about her.

For one thing, Angie isn’t entirely nervous. She’s quiet, and definitely introverted, but she’s always listening when she’s not speaking. She talks mainly in questions, and it takes awhile for me to notice that’s she's pretty much controlling the conversation. However, unlike with Antonia, I don’t sense any ulterior motive. When she asks about my day, she truly wants to hear about my day. When I tell her about Jessica picking out my jacket for me, she appears interested, and smiles as I tell the story. I get the feeling she thrives off talkative people, and this thought only proves itself further when she struggles with Antonia.

The change in Antonia’s manner is not too obvious, but it’s enough to notice a difference. While not exactly cold, because she’s smiling and nodding along, she offers little to the conversation. It’s clear that Angie is uncomfortable around her, but Antonia makes no effort to reassure her, and continues to stare intently at whoever’s speaking. Occasionally, she’ll bring up a topic that isn’t being discussed, like how the cafe smells like cinnamon, or how the seats aren’t very comfortable. It’s mundane enough not to bother me, but whenever she does this, Angie turns sharply towards her with wide eyes, and smiles nervously. 

After awhile, Angie gets a text from Jessica, saying her and Mike are at the diner down the street if we want to join them. At the mention of food, I get excited, so Angie tells them we’re on our way. 

When we walk out of the cafe, Antonia turns to me and says, “It’s about time for me to go home.”

“Oh, really?” Angie says to my left, but she doesn’t sound too disappointed.

Antonia spares her an amused glance. “Yes. I was due back an hour ago. I had only meant to buy a book,” she looks pointedly at me, “but someone distracted me.”

I roll my eyes. “Sure, as if you had no choice in the matter.”

“You were very persuasive.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You said you think I’m weird, and that you want me to be around you.”

“You are weird, and you scare people, so it’s advantageous to have you near me.”

Antonia grins. Her teeth are as white as her sisters’, but somehow, less unnerving. She nods to the both of us, and I’m again struck with the impression that she’s either really fucking pretentious or very polite. I watch her walk away, her long strides allowing her to move quickly, though she’s not putting in too much effort. That seems to be a good descriptor for her in general.

“Um,” Angie says, and I realize I might have forgotten she was there.

“Yeah?”

She gives me an odd look, then glances at Antonia walking down the street. “You two met at the campfire last night, right?”

I nod. “Why?”

“I don’t know, it sort of seemed like…” She turns back to me with the same weird look, and brushes her glasses further up her nose with her finger. “What’s your opinion of Antonia?”

“What?”

“What do you think of her?”

I break eye-contact with Angie, uncomfortable with this line of questioning. “You know, she’s weird, but nice once you get her talking. In a snobby sort of way.” 

“Hmm.” Angie is back to watching Antonia. She seems tense.

“Why?” I ask. “What do you think of her?”

She doesn’t answer for a few seconds. Then, when I start to think she didn’t hear the question, she says in a really quiet voice, “I don’t like being around her.”

Normally, I’d try to continue questioning Angie. From what I’ve seen, Antonia hasn’t done or said anything that sets off alarm bells, but at the same time I understand what Angie is saying. I’m not sure if she’s referencing the tension I feel when I’m around Antonia, or odd feelings I have for the Cullens in general, but I know that Angie is a nice person. I don’t think she would have anything mean to say about anyone. But, Antonia makes people uncomfortable,and Angie is allowed to not like that.

Time for a subject change. I put on a smile. “Heow ‘bout we go meet up with Jessica and Michael? I’m hungry, and I’m pretty sure most of my dad’s belly comes from the french fries in that diner.”

Angie, looking a little relieved, links arms with me and leads us both down the street. We don’t talk about Antonia.

I spend the next hour with a mouth full of cheeseburger, trying not to choke as I laugh at the antics of Michael and Jessica. They’re the kind of couple who talk at once, interrupting each other and adding details to the conversation. It’s confusing, because they’re capable of telling a story and arguing at the same time. By the end of lunch, my mouth hurts from smiling so much.

Angie gives me a ride home in her maroon mini-van she calls “Nancy”. We spend the drive listening to her summer playlist, and I have a surreal moment where I’m singing along to the Beach Boys while shoving my freezing hands under my armpits. Dorwall is weird.

When I’m dropped off, I avoid looking at my truck sitting in the driveway. If I start to acknowledge its existence, I will soon be forced to drive it, an event that should be avoided for the general safety of others. The front door to the house is unlocked, which must mean my dad’s home, because despite being a police officer he has the preservation instincts of a house pet. I open the door and shout, “I bought stuff!”

There’s a boy standing in the living room, wearing a Nirvana t-shirt and ratty jeans. He’s skinny, grumpy looking, and has a lot of black hair in a bun. He looks like the kind of kid who’ll grow into his looks if he stops slouching and loses the attitude. I should know, I’m still that kid.

“Dad?!” I shout, standing frozen in the doorway and maintaing eye-contact with the intruder. “There’s a teenager in your house!”

My dad answers from somewhere in the kitchen. “Yeah, that’s Jacob. He’s helping me with the furnace.”

“Oh.” I study Jacob more closely. He can’t be much older than fourteen, though he’s got the cheekbones of a twenty-something-year-old. He’s also got big ol’ puppy dog eyes, so it’skinda funny when he begins to scowl at me. “Hi, Jacob,” I say, unfazed in the face of teenage angst. “I’m Bella, Charlie’s daughter.”

“I know,” he grumbles. I smile at the slight hint of a voice-crack, and his cheeks color. 

“Puberty’s a bitch, huh?”

His scowl deepens. Yeah, that was probably a dumb thing to say.

My dad walks in with two cans of soda, still in his uniform. “With those conversation skills, it’s no wonder you’re the most popular girl in town.”

I roll my eyes and shut the front door with a backwards kick. “I think that has less to do with my friendly nature, and more to do with Dorwall being the most boring place on earth.”

My dad takes my ribbing in good spirits. “Yeah, well, you wanted to visit, so joke’s on you.” He hands one of the soda cans to Jacob. “Heard you introduce yourself to Jackie over here, nice to know you remember the people in your life.”

“What?”

“Jacob. Jacob Black. Billy’s boy.”

Oh shit. “Jacob!” I exclaim. “Oh my god, is that you? Jesus, the last time I saw you, you were—“

“Small. Yeah. I know.” He opens up the soda and starts to chug it down.

I give my dad a look, and he shakes his head. _Don’t push it._

Billy Black’s boy. Sarah Black’s son. I look at Jacob with a new perspective. His mother died three years ago, he must have been around twelve when it happened. Jesus. 

As if sensing my eyes on him, Jacob turns to glare at me. “Can I help you with something?”

“Okay, fuck you,” is what I want to say, but out of the corner of my eye I see my dad’s eyebrow twitch, and I decide against it. Instead, I just shake my head, and try not to react much when he mutters something under his breath and goes to throw away his soda can. Besides my temper, I don’t care much. I left my moody-teenage-boy days back in…well, actually, I’ve never much cared for moody teenage boys. Go figure.

Feeling an exhaustion headache coming on, I decide it’s time for a nap. I start to head for the stairs, but my dad stops me with an outstretched arm.

“Did you get new clothes?” He asks.

“Yup.” I hold up the evidence.

He peeks inside the bag. “A jacket?”

“It was on sale.”

“You bought one jacket.”

“On sale. Yeah.”

He sighs, dropping his arm. “Bella, sweetie, when I gave you money to buy clothes, I meant for you to buy more than one item. Even if that one item was on sale.”

“Oh.”

“Keep the money, you can buy more stuff tomorrow.”

“Cool. Uh, can I go to my room now? I’m tired, and I should probably call Mom.”

“Yeah. Go. Get out of my hair.”

I smile, and give him a kiss on the cheek. “Love ya, Dad.”

He mumbles something that sounds vaguely like, “I love you, too.” I climb the stairs, eager to get some shut-eye after my previous horrible night of sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and here we meet jacob black, angsty 14-year-old puppy. he's gonna be like, the ultimate little brother. 
> 
> whatcha think? i'm viewing this as a sort of a first draft editing project, am i going the right direction with this?


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